


Pardon the Disruption

by cole90210



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: And Benoit has reasoning skills, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Flirting, Foiled plots, Harlan Lives, Harlan is melodramatic, Marta is a good nurse, Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:36:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26494990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cole90210/pseuds/cole90210
Summary: Private Investigator Benoit Blanc is friends with famed mystery writer Harlan Thrombey and receives an invitation to his 85th birthday party. Will his presence change the outcome of that fateful night?Hint: yes, yes it will. Harlan Lives, Marta x Benoit Blanc
Relationships: Benoit Blanc/Marta Cabrera
Comments: 43
Kudos: 348





	1. Chapter one

Mr Benoit Blanc stepped out of his car, taking in the large house on the remote estate. He had not been here before, but it did not take his refined deductive skills to recognise this property as belonging to someone with a strong flair for the dramatic. The gothic-inspired towers and spires tipped the three-storey brick mansion, and the barren trees illuminated by the light of the moon added to the eerie and imposing structure.

It suited murder-mystery writer Harlan Thrombey to a T.

He buttoned his suit jacket as he walked past the expensive cars lining the driveway, cataloguing each and deducing what he could about their owners.

The Prius with the University bumper sticker was clearly Harlan's granddaughter’s. The Range Rover most likely belonged to Harlan’s daughter Linda – expensive and imposing, Linda would not care for sleeker and more ostentatious sports models. Not like the other dark Porsche next to it, almost certainly belonging to Walt, despite not being practical for a small family.

Before he got to the door, he spotted a small blue Hyundai peaking out from the side of the house. Its position said as much as the age of the model – this did not belong to the family, this belonged to one of the staff. Someone Harlan must not be paying all that well if that is how they got around.

Benoit knocked on the door, which was opened only moments later by a middle-aged woman with dark hair.

“Hello there, my name is Benoit Blanc. I believe I am expected for the party?” He introduced himself, smiling politely at the woman as she stepped aside to let him in.

“Of course. Can I take your coat for you Mr Blanc?” she asked.

“Yes thank you, much obliged.” He said letting the woman take his light-coloured coat.

“Harlan and his guests are right through there.” She said unnecessarily, as the noises and party guests were spilling through the door into the entrance way.

Benoit made his way through the people, ready to greet his father’s old friend Harlan and apologise for his lateness – his momma would be appalled at his late arrival and would curse him from the grave if he forsook the manners she drilled into him and did not apologise to his host.

Benoit could not see Harlan at first parse. Supposing he must be momentarily absent, Benoit made his way over to the gift table and sat down the bottle of bourbon he had purchased. It was a token really, the best gift he could give Harlan were his ‘war stories’. Stories of cases and characters he had met in his line of work were always highly anticipated and well-received by the morbidly curious man, and Benoit hoped to have time to speak to him that night. He had a couple of new tales up his sleeve, including a doozy of a story about a dead man, a cat as an eyewitness and a set of identical twins…

“Care for a drink?” the same woman that had greeted him at the door presented him with a tray of champagne in expensive fluted glasses.

“Thank you, yes.” He took one of the drinks offered.

The housekeeper most likely. Generally happy with her job and boss, but none too fond of some of the party guests if he was reading her correctly, watching her walk away to serve others.

“You seem more like a brown liquor kind of guy.” A blonde woman with a Californian accent sidled up beside him, interrupting his thoughts.

“Only I heard you talking. You’ve got like, a southern twang. You usually see those kind of guys with whiskey or bourbon, you know?”

“Oh, I do not mind indulgin’ in some bubbly for a celebration.” Benoit replied with a genteel smile.

“I’m Joni.” The woman held out her hand at an odd angle, one not quite right for a handshake. Still, Benoit politely took her angled, palm down hand in a quasi-handshake. “Harlan’s daughter-in-law.”

“Benoit Blanc, an old friend of Harlan’s.” He introduced himself.

Joni’s eyes lit up in recognition and she swept her eyes over him again, assessing him now she recognised his name.

“Oh my God, I read a tweet about a New Yorker article about you. You’re the detective right, ‘last of the gentleman sleuths? You’re famous!”

Benoit smiled politely and ducked his head in an ‘aw shucks’ manner. Damn New Yorker article – it may have been good for business, but these kind of interactions were becoming far too common place.

“Oh my God, so you totally have to tell me all about the case you solved with the tennis champ! I was like, totally convinced it was his wife. His business partner seemed like a good guy, you know? How did you figure out it was him?”

“Oh you will have to forgive me, I am prohibited from discussing details of my investigations.” He deferred.

Joni would not be deterred however and set about trying to interrogate details of his most interesting cases out of him. Luckily, Joni was a chatty sort and easily distracted by her own tangents, so the conversation required little of him.

“’Flam’ promotes a total lifestyle. I am all about self-sufficiency, and that is what I’ve taught my daughter Meg over there,” Joni paused for breath to indicate a young woman wearing a bright red beret engaged in what seemed like a passionate conversation with another woman.

Her companion was slightly smaller than her but older, wearing a simple ensemble with a navy jumper and her dark hair tied up in braids. She was a very pretty woman, appearing soft and reserved, given she seemed to be politely listening to Meg more so than participating. Harlan imagined that most people would miss the cues when looking at her, but he was not most people. She was uncomfortable here, having positioned herself so her back was to the wall and glancing around the room at the other guests watchfully, as much as she could politely get away with.

She was kind enough to give her attention to what Benoit suspected was a rant about a social issue that the idealistic youth had taken up, but likely she wanted to escape, at least for a quick break. 

And after 15 minutes with Joni, Benoit could relate.

“Joni my apologies, but would you be able to point me to the facilities? I’ve had myself a long drive.” Benoit inserted before she could continue to talk about her skincare products.

“Oh yeah, sure. Just through that door.” Joni pointed him.

“Much obliged.”

Benoit set down his half empty champagne flute and absented himself. In the bathroom he splashed some water on his face and waited what he felt was enough time that Joni would get distracted and not be waiting for him to re-join her.

Upon exiting the bathroom, Benoit spotted Harlan re-entering the room, following his rather troubled looking son.

“Ah, Mr Blanc! I’m so glad you could make it.” Harlan greeted him warmly, seeming unconcerned with the shell-shocked Walt as he crossed the room to warmly shake Benoit’s hand.

“Thank you for the invitation. I must also apologise for my lateness, I’m afraid I had a deposition run long.” Benoit said with his first genuine smile of the night.

“Ah, anything that would titillate and entertain?” Harlan asked keenly.

Benoit chuckled slightly. “I’m afraid not, but I do have a tale or two to spin for you, should we find the opportunity this evening.”

“Wonderful! I do appreciate you indulging an old, macabre man. I still have some hands to shake, so please have some of the food I’ve paid a fortune for and we’ll steal away after the cake. That’s one of the benefits of being sick my friend, I can have my nurse Marta Cabrera chase off the others.” Harlan chuckled, gesturing toward the pretty, meek woman he had noticed earlier.

Marta seemed to have a sixth sense that she was being talked about, or perhaps she was an extremely attentive nurse and was tracking her patient. Either way, Benoit’s blue eyes met her dark ones from across the room. He found his gaze lingering again. He had established her to be guarded earlier, but now he looked into her eyes, she seemed far more open. Her eyes were kind and expressive, having raked over Harlan in a welfare check before sliding to him with curiosity. Her gaze lacked the shrewd evaluation of most of the people - police, criminal and fan alike - that he came into contact with. There was something honest about her eyes.

“She’s a good girl, you will like her.” Harlan said, making Benoit revert his gaze to his old friend. “Why don’t you do me a favour and save her from Meg’s latest world saving ideologies? I love the girl, but if left unchecked, she will have Marta signed up to the Peace Corps before the night is out and I will have to find another nurse.”

Harlan patted Benoit forward with surprising strength before disappearing back into the crowd to a formally dressed man and woman Benoit had pegged as being from his publishing house.

Benoit narrowed his eyes slightly, wondering what Harlan was up to with this suggestion. Nonetheless, he would do his bidding. He always had a soft spot for being the knight in shining armour.

“- the Right’s agenda is suppression! Pure and simple. If you look at the history-“ Benoit tuned in to the young woman’s rant as he approached. She seemed nowhere near wrapping up.

“Begging your pardon ladies-“ Benoit interrupted as Meg drew breath. Both the women turned to face him. Meg did not bother to make her examination of him inconspicuous, much like her mother. Marta gave him a small, polite smile and patiently waited for him to speak again.

“My name is Benoit Blanc, I am an old friend of Harlan’s. I do apologise for interruptin’, but I wonder if I might steal Ms Cabrera away for a moment?”

Marta’s eyebrows went up at the request and Meg turned to the other woman to see her response.

“Ah…” Marta ended up nodding her assent despite seeming far from sure what Benoit wanted from her.

“Uh, ok? I’ll catch up with you later Marta.” Meg said, with a final, somewhat distrustful look at Benoit.

Benoit smiled benignly at the women, gesturing for Marta to lead the way out of the room. Once they were in the far more sparsely populated entrance way, Marta turned to Benoit, hesitantly expectant.

“What can I do for you Mr Blanc?” she asked in a lovely, smooth voice carrying a Latin American accent.

“Oh, nothin’. Harlan suggested that a reprieve may be welcome from his granddaughter’s passions.”

Marta just blinked at his answer.

Benoit felt a small stirring of doubt. “My apologies if my intervention was unwelcome.”

“Oh no, no – thank you, it wasn’t.” Marta’s face contorted slightly as she finished, seeming to immediately regret her words. “I mean, Meg is wonderful, she is a friend and a kind girl.”

Benoit allowed a moment of silence to see if Marta would add a ‘but’. However she did not, her loyalty to Harlan’s family making her tight-lipped in the presence of a stranger.

“Indeed – well they do say familiarity breeds contempt, so let us not tempt fate and settle you in her company again immediately.” He smiled conspiratorially at her which made her full lips twitch slightly before she averted her gaze.

“I was going to step outside for a moment. You are more than welcome to join me, if you’re willing to brave the cold and cigar smoke.” He offered, giving her an easy out. 

Marta lightly bit her bottom lip in an unconscious gesture as she considered the offer, and he found his eyes lingering on it. He snapped his gaze away – he could hardly pretend to be her rescuer if he immediately transformed into a lecherous man, leering at the younger woman as soon as he had her alone.

“The courtyard out back has some heaters, this way.”

Benoit followed Marta, skirting along the border of the party attendees before stepping ahead to open the door for her to walk through. She nodded her thanks, walking out onto the dimly lit courtyard with just one older couple each smoking a cigarette while looking over the grounds.

“How do you know Harlan?” Marta asked as a polite conversation starter when they had settled on two of the upholstered chairs.

“He knew my father. He was a detective, they came across each other when Harlan was investigatin’ a rather unusual cold case for one of his books. It was a murder, quite a burr in my father’s saddle that it was not solved. Harlan offered some insight, helped my father find the killer. After that they stayed in touch, a bond forged in the pursuit of justice and morbid fascination in the psychology of killin’. A legacy I have continued I'm afraid.” Benoit explained with a wry smile, lighting up a cigar.

Marta rolled her eyes in exasperation. “You have come to fill his head with more plots and ideas for how people can brutalise each other and get away with it.”

Benoit’s smile widened. “You make it sound so unseemly.” He joked.

“All this murder and deceit. He tells me his ideas for new stories at night as I’m doling out his medicine, it’s enough to give me nightmares.” She said, but her small smile let Benoit know she said it with fondness.

“You are not a fan of his genre?”

Marta shook her head. “Not really. Just the thought of all the tangled webs and lies makes me want to puke.”

Benoit chuckled rather bemusedly while Marta’s eyes widened slightly as though she could not believe she had just said that.

“Heaven forbid. Well I think there is something to be said in taking a break from the darkness of the world that, in both our lines of work, we are unfortunately more prone to be exposed to.”

Marta nodded, her cheeks still slightly stained red.

“I’ve suggested to Harlan that he should consider at least _reading_ something less grisly.”

“And how did that turn out?” Benoit asked, amused.

Marta fixed a sardonic look on him. “I lent him an autobiography and he got a third of the way through before telling me it would be more interesting if she had killed someone.”

Benoit barked a laugh. Typical Harlan.

“Don’t laugh! He then proceeded to tell me all the ways he thought she would commit murder and how she’d probably get away with it too. I’ll never look at Michelle Obama the same way again.” Marta mourned.

Benoit let out a hearty laugh at her dry delivery.

He was pleased to see the other woman relaxing more and more the longer they sat outside, first trading more stories about Harlan before drawing onto slightly more personal territory, lingering on their shared love of reading. She seemed more at ease and her smiles more genuine now than they had been inside. He silently flattered himself that he may have perhaps turned her night around to be more enjoyable.

As he rather regretfully stubbed out the little left of his cigar, he noticed Marta shiver slightly.

“I’m afraid I have kept you out too long.” Benoit said apologetically, wishing he had grabbed his coat on the way out so he could offer it to her.

Marta shyly waved away his concern.

“Let us get you back inside to the warmth – I could never forgive myself if I caused you to catch a chill.”

As they both stood, Benoit caught himself just before he could press his hand to the small of her back to guide her inside. He retracted his hand, flexing his fingers and distracting himself by stepping forward and opening the door for Marta.

Spending less than an hour chatting did not grant him those sorts of liberties. He was not usually so quick to think so.

As soon as they had entered again, Benoit noticed Marta transforming back into a wallflower, meekly heading to the side of the room away from the other guests.

Benoit found himself following her like he was a moth and she was the flame.

“You don’t seem eager to re-join the party.” He observed quietly.

Marta paused for a moment, no doubt trying to find the most polite way to say ‘absolutely bloody not’.

“It is about the point in the night where the conversation turns to politics,” She admitted. “A conversation topic I’d rather avoid.”

“Ah. Clever girl.” He noted with a nod. He strongly suspected that the party guests, being mostly white, rich and conservative, would be very quick to treat her as a tokenistic person of colour, likely grilling her on immigration, ‘the wall’ and any number of racist topics.

He would be happy to provide her with a haven of company, should she allow him to monopolise her time until Harlan came sniffing for a story or two.

However, before he could open his mouth and ask if she would like a glass of champagne, he became aware of a high spirited Joni locking him in her sights.

“There you are! You _have_ to meet Bill, he leads a whole bunch of the research and junk at Harlan’s publishing house. He couldn’t believe it when I told him there was a world-famous detective in the room, I thought he was going to _die_.”

Joni grabbed his arm presumptuously and all but dragged him away to where a balding man was watching excitedly. He only had a chance to shoot Marta a final parting nod and catch a glance of her hand raised in a little wave with an amused turn to her lips before he had to turn and make sure Joni did not barrel him into any party guests.

It seemed his reprieve was done and back to the vultures he went.


	2. Chapter two

Marta studied Harlan from across the room, looking for signs of fatigue or pain. She knew him and his mannerisms well enough that she would be able to tell if he was faking it for his guests.

Though she noticed him slowing down and a light tremble in his hands, she was pleased that Harlan was now sitting next to Linda in an in-depth conversation. No great strain there, Harlan loved his daughter dearly and she was mindful of her father’s health.

Marta went back to picking at her piece of birthday cake from where she stood across the room, chatting to Fran.

“I tell you – handsome, rich men only exist in the movies. Except maybe Richard Branson. Look at everyone in this room, have you ever seen such a bunch of stiffs, acting like this is a networking event instead of a party? I guess Hollywood rich is different, I mean at least they’d be fun. Not that I want to clean up after a rager of course. But mark my words, you marry ‘well’ in New England, you’re getting a boring, old white man.” Fran prattled on. Though her words were bold, she was careful to keep her voice low.

“There’s one exception though – Mr Blue Eyes over there. I saw you talking to him earlier…” Fran trailed off somewhat slyly.

Marta knew exactly where ‘Mr Blue Eyes’ Benoit Blanc was. She had been _aware_ of him since she saw Harlan greet him so warmly shortly after he arrived. Then he had spent the next hour talking with her, acting like she was the most interesting person in a room full of fascinating people.

She had felt nervous to have his singular attention, those bright, focused eyes on her. But nerves weren’t the only thing that had made her heart beat faster. He was a very handsome man, flattering but not overbearing, his warm southern manners terribly endearing, especially compared to the insincere hospitality afforded her by most of Harlan’s family and guests.

Marta knew she was blushing at Fran’s suggestive tone but kept her voice even. “He is a very nice, interesting man. I can see why he and Harlan get along.” was all she said.

“A ‘very nice, interesting man’ without a wedding ring.” Fran appended.

Marta rolled her eyes. “If you are so interested, why don’t you go chat him up, huh?” she asked.

“Don’t tempt me, he’s been glancing this way… but honey, I don’t think it’s me he’s looking at.”

Marta stole another glance over at Benoit when Fran spoke. Only a second later, he glanced over as though sensing her eyes on him. She was embarrassed to be caught but did note the way his eyes crinkled as he graciously smiled back at her.

Fran snorted lightly, having watched the exchange. “I’m telling you girl, you bat those lashes at him and he’s yours.” She advised before moving away to do the last round of drinks.

Marta glanced back at Harlan, noticing that Linda was helping him up. Harlan walked over to Marta before any of the other party guests, thinning though they were, could snag him.

“Are you enjoying yourself my dear?” Harlan asked her with a twinkle in his eye.

“The cake is yummy.” is all she said.

“That good hey?” Harlan chuckled lightly. “I had hoped that sending Mr Blanc your way would embroil you in some decent company, but it seems you’ve let him slip your net.”

Marta elbowed him lightly. “Hey! I was not _casting a net_. You’re as bad as Fran.” She hissed.

Of course, her outrage did nothing to dissuade Harlan, as usual.

“Well I must ask you to brave his company again. Could you fetch him for me? I’ve been waiting all night to speak to him.”

Marta raised her eyebrow at his request.

“Oh, because you’re so incapable of walking across the room to him yourself Abuelo?”

Harlan let out a soft ‘bah’ with a wave of his hand. “He’s talking to Richard and Drew, I don’t want to get caught up…”

He pulled out what Marta called his puppy eyes, looking at her hopefully but with mischief and humour shining through his expression.

Marta huffed lightly, just so he knew she was not doing his bidding willingly. “Fine.”

Harlan smiled triumphantly. “Thank you my dear. I’ll shuffle off to the bathroom – old bladder, you know – while you fetch our Mr Blanc to the green couch in the drawing room?”

Harlan did not wait for an answer before he walked away, Marta’s exasperated eyes on his back.

Still, she put down her plate and quickly ran a hand over her hair to smooth down any flyaway strands before making her way over to Mr Blanc.

“Gentlemen, I am so sorry,” she interrupted softly with an apologetic smile. “Mr Blanc, you’re needed in the drawing room.”

Marta played the part of the diminutive help well as Mr Blanc excused himself from the other men.

When they were out of earshot, he leaned in slightly to asked her, “and for what am I needed Ms Cabrera?”

“Marta, please.” She was quick to correct as they passed through the door.

“Marta.” Her name slipped like honey from his lips.

“I thought perhaps it was my turn to save you.” She said cheekily, feeling bold from his fond smile.

He chuckled warmly. “A well-timed rescue, I do not know if I could digest any more real estate advice.”

Marta ducked her head with a smirk. She knew Harlan’s son-in-law Richard to be extremely opinionated and imagined Mr Blanc far too polite to mesh well with his bold style of communication.

“I admit to finding our conversation about literature and poetry far more entertainin’.”

Marta’s smile turned more genuine as they drew to a stop, drawing up to meet his eyes.

“Have you thought of another ‘non-murder, non-horror, feminist representation of all that is good and meaningful in the world’ recommendation for me Marta?”

Marta let out an amused huff at his teasing.

“I’m afraid just the opposite – Harlan’s patience has run out and he has asked me to help corner you so he can hear all your gory tales.”

Mr Blanc’s eyes flicked down, and though his lips remained slanted up into a soft smile, he looked almost… disappointed?

“Ah, I see. And I assume you will be scurrying off to hear about happier things?” he asked.

“I do not need to know about this ‘tennis champ’ that Joni has been telling everyone about.” She replied, slightly side stepping the question. She did not want to interrupt Harlan’s time with his old friend, though it seemed like he was inviting her to.

“Ah Mr Blanc, at last we have a chance to speak.” Harlan opened his arms with a warm smile to greet the man as he entered the drawing room.

It wasn’t until Mr Blanc stepped back to shake Harlan’s hand that Marta realised how close they had been standing.

“I will leave you to it.” Marta said before spinning on her heel, feeling slightly flustered.

She spent the next little while nursing a soft drink and watching the party slowly clear out until there was just family left. Harlan and Mr Blanc re-entered the main room, grumbling and heading straight for her.

“I can hardly hear any of the good stuff for the amount of well-wishers and farewellers.” Harlan complained.

“It _is_ getting late. I should depart. I don’t want to press the odds on my late check-in.” Mr Blanc said regretfully.

“Nonsense my good man, you can stay here.” Harlan offered. “Marta, could you ask Fran to make up another bed?”

“Fran just left.” Marta informed him.

“Ah, a sign that I would be an imposition.” Mr Blanc observed.

“I can make up the bed.” Marta offered, unexpected even to herself. She was a nurse, not household staff. She hated it when the other family members ordered drinks from her or expected her to clean up after them or wait on them. But this was not for any of the Thrombeys or Drysdales – it was for Mr Blanc, who would hopefully stick around to spend more time with Harlan tomorrow.

“Marta, I could not ask you to. I am capable of making up my own bed.” He replied kindly.

“Ah, then you are staying! Why don’t the two of you get the room set up? You’ll get it done in half the time and meanwhile, I’ll chase out anyone else who isn’t living here this weekend.” Harlan said, not waiting for a response before heading off to do just that.

Marta and Mr Blanc exchanged a wry look, aware that Harlan had every much just got his way, as he was wont to do.

“This way please Mr Blanc.” She said, heading toward the staircase.

“Marta please, call me Benoit.” He offered.

She nodded with a smile, leading him to one of the vacant bedrooms on the second floor, the furthest from Joni’s, not by coincidence. They moved in comfortable silence to strip away the queen bed comforter, efficiently fitting on fresh sheets from the armoire in the room.

“The bathroom is just down the hall, you won’t be sharing with anybody on this side of the house. There will be spare towels and toiletries in there for you.” Marta told him.

“Thank you kindly. I hate to take advantage of someone’s hospitality, but I do think I will be in much better comfort here than in a motel.” He confided with a smile.

“Fran and the staff put on a wonderful breakfast the night after gatherings like this, you may not want to leave.” Marta joked.

“And will you be here for the breakfast?” he asked. “I mean, is Harlan the kind of taskmaster that requires you from dawn til midnight everyday?”

“No, not at all. He’s a great boss – I get a flat rate for the hours, but it’s very generous… anyway,” Marta shook her head slightly, realising she was going into far more detail than he had intended her to.

“For little family events like that, I am invited as a guest…” Marta said. Truthfully, she tended to avoid Thrombey family gatherings where possible. No amount of lip service saying she ‘was part of the family’ could compete with the patronising manner she usually endured.

“Then I hope you will attend, in case I need rescuing from more real estate advice or interrogation about famous people I have never met.” He teased of Richard and Joni.

Marta smiled shyly at Benoit’s hopeful statement.

There were a few beats of silence as Marta ducked her face so she wasn’t beaming at the man like a lunatic.

“I best duck out and grab my luggage. Thank you for your help Marta.”

She nodded, liking the way her name rolled of his tongue the more he said it.


	3. Chapter three

Benoit was briefly waylaid by Joni as he brought his bag upstairs. He had noticed earlier that the bedroom he was given did not have a locking door and wondered if he should barricade himself in in case the hungry glint in Joni’s eyes translated to action during the night.

This time, it was both Marta and Harlan that came to his rescue.

Harlan was standing at the foot of a staircase leading up to the third storey, next to an impatient looking Marta.

“Well I can’t beat you, at least against him I have a chance!” he was telling her just before he spotted Benoit.

“Join us, join us. Marta and I have a nightly game of ‘Go’ before she subjects me to those so-called ‘wonder drugs’. She always whips me and I deserve a fair shot at winning on my birthday.” Harlan invited.

Benoit smiled. “And you think I am the man for the job?” he asked.

“Yes, I do. Then after you can assuage your ego by finishing the story with the killer who could walk through walls, proving your cleverness and wit.” Harlan joked.

Benoit huffed a laugh. “Give me a moment to store my luggage and I will be right up. No need to wait on me.” He said after glancing at Marta, who placed a steering hand on Harlan’s shoulder and directed the mirthful man upstairs.

As he followed a couple of minutes later, he noticed the stairs creaking as walked up. The wood panelling was painted green and one of the panels was opened to another smaller staircase he could hear voices coming from. A hidden door – he wondered how many similar little tricks existed in this place.

“There he is! Leave me be woman, you can wait until after our game to inject me with your poisons.” Harlan playfully swerved his arms away from Marta’s reach.

“Jesus Harlan, it’s not _poison_.” Marta tutted at him. “And it’s getting late.”

“Tradition is more important than bedtimes Marta. And it’s my _birthday_.” Harlan continued with mock scandal.

Marta huffed adorably and gestured Benoit into the room in surrender, seeming to take an attitude of ‘the quicker they started, the quicker it was over’.

Benoit took the smaller seat at the side of the table, receiving the pouch of black tokens from Harlan.

“I am out of practice so this will most likely go quickly.” He said to them both, eyes drifting from Harlan to Marta who was now leaning against the bureau with crossed arms.

“We shall play until I can figure out how your suspect managed to get in and out of the crime scene undetected.”

Benoit smirked at the man, laying down the first token.

“Victim was found hanging from a ceiling fan.” Harlan began to repeat the details of the story Benoit had started earlier.

“Oh God…” Marta muttered, turning to dig in her medical bag to distract herself from the details.

“The door was locked from the inside…” They each had three tokens on the board now.

“Cause of death was a broken neck, and he had a history of erratic behaviour…”

Benoit nodded to confirm.

“The suicide note denounced the wife for cheating, which triggered the prenup which meant all his money went to his only living relative, the brother.”

Benoit was losing already, and it only took a few more questions on the make of the lock, the whereabouts of the wife, brother and house staff around the time of death and who Benoit’s client was before he had officially lost.

“That’s one for me,” Harlan said as they collected their respective pieces to start again. “You say the wife hired you.”

“Indeed. She was convinced the brother had orchestrated the whole thing to cut her out of her inheritance and lifestyle.”

Marta piped up as the men began playing again. “She thought someone would plot against their own flesh and blood just to make sure _she_ had less money?”

“I have unfortunately found bitterness to be a strong motivator in my line of work.” Benoit observed softly to the woman.

“And how do you even know it was murder?” she pressed.

“A second coroner confirmed that the break was a clean snap of certain vertebra, more likely coming from a sharp twisting motion than from a short rope with a drop of only 2 feet or so. If he had indeed attempted suicide, there would be stronger signs of strangulation.” Benoit explained.

“So most likely a male, and let me guess – the brother had military training?” Harlan asked.

Benoit nodded.

“But how did he get out of a door locked from the inside, key in the hole…?” Harlan wondered out loud.

They played in silence for a moment as Harlan thought.

“Was there by chance a gap between the door and the floor?” he asked.

Benoit shook his head smiling and sat back, gracious in defeat both on the board and in the reveal of his story. Harlan would make a great law enforcement consultant if he weren’t so darn dramatic.

***

Marta started slightly as Harlan boomed “Ha!”

He was all but cackling in delight, placing his last token on the board to officially claim the last game.

“What? I don’t get it.” Marta asked with her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out the conclusion Harlan had arrived at.

“My dear, all he needed was a newspaper and a bit of fishing line.”

Harlan perfectly explained the plot to Marta as Benoit tidied up the board, the way the brother had gained entry by poking the key out of the door onto a newspaper on the ground to gain entry, murdered the victim, strung him up and then left the room, feeding through a piece of fishing line looped around the key to draw it back into the keyhole of the locked door.

“So, the brother went to jail and the wife was left with nothing?” Marta confirmed.

Benoit nodded. “All that bad business over money that ended up going to his alma mater and a handful of charities he supported.”

“Money – it’s all nasty business.” Harlan said, sounding more tired than before.

Benoit stood up, ready to say goodnight and let the man rest.

“Before you head down to bed, you have to see the master at work.” Harlan said perking up, indicating for Marta to sit.

“No, you’ve had your game.” She said, taking the seat nonetheless with Harlan’s medication in hand.

“Nonsense, I was just warming up. Besides, I think we both just observed how badly our Mr Blanc here is in need of a lesson in strategy.” Harlan teased.

Marta darted a glance at the amused looking Benoit before sighing again, efficiently gathering the playing pieces to do a speed round.

“I only beat her about half the time…” Harlan said as he started laying down pieces.

“Ha!” Marta let out a rough, scoffing laugh at the claim.

“Alright, maybe closer to 10% of the time.” Harlan admitted with a proud little smile.

“I play to create a beautiful pattern while you get hung up on trying to win.” Marta said plainly of her strategy.

“Ah, it’s basically over already. My only hope is that an earthquake will strike… but what are the odds of that happening?” Harlan glanced up at Benoit, shooting the man a little wink as his knee began shaking the table.

Marta stopped playing, turning to fix a deadpan stare on Harlan as he exclaimed and tumbled the board, all the pieces and the medication Marta had laid onto the floor with a laugh. She heard Benoit chuckling under his breath at the boyish behaviour.

“Such a bad loser you are! And don’t you encourage him.” She scolded as both she and Benoit bent down to tidy the mess made.

Their hands brushed as he helped to gather the vials of Harlan’s medication. Though the contact was brief, Marta swore she could feel an echo of his warm touch on her skin lingering. Her cheeks heated as she realised she was acting like a young, lovesick fool – fixating on a grazing touch…

“Meds, goodnights and bed.” Marta instructed both the men strictly, casting a quick look at Benoit and trying to hide that she was flustered.

“My dear, I’m sure he’s seen much worse without getting squeamish.” Harlan said of Marta’s hesitation to start his nightly dosage.

“I should leave you to it.” Benoit said.

Harlan paused in rolling up his sleeve to wave away Benoit’s parting words. “Before that, you must tell me how you found the party?”

“An enjoyable night Harlan, thank you for inviting me.”

“Yes, I find the right company makes all the difference…” Harlan said, slipping his gaze none too slyly from Benoit to Marta.

She narrowed her eyes at him as she fixed the now full syringe to the catheter in his arm. Marta shook her head at his continued antics, but felt herself softening as she looked at Harlan. Though he maintained a good mask, Marta knew he had been dreading tonight. She asked hm gently, “how was your night?”

Harlan heaved a sigh, the smile drifting away as he grew more sombre.

“It was good. Not easy, but… I cut the line on all four of them.”

Marta’s surprise at his candour registered with Harlan, who smiled softly at her. “Oh, Mr Blanc will have clocked all of my relatives and their problems this evening.”

“I noticed some unrest.” Benoit admitted.

“This goddam fortune!” Harlan said, regret bleeding into his tone. “Everything I’ve done, given my family… maybe it was to keep them somehow beneath me? I should have done what Marta said, I should have encouraged Walt to write his _own_ stories, been a father, not just a provider to Joni… been kinder to Linda, to Ransom.” Harlan broke his musings with a chuckle.

“Ransom – Jesus, there’s so much of me in that kid. Sharp, confident… a complete shit. You’d hate him.” Harlan told Benoit with amusement.

“The only fear I live with now is that none of it will be fixed before I go. That I will leave them all in a mess of my making…”

“Ultimately, every man is the architect of his own fortune. You may show them each a path they have chosen not to step down before, but whether or not they do now is out of your control my friend.” Benoit said gently.

Harlan hummed his agreement, pensive.

“It is done now, and good riddance.” She said, not unkindly. “Want to forget about it with some of the good stuff?”

Marta rattled the other bottle of clear liquid with a cheeky grin.

The two men chuckled and Harlan quipped, “Forgive my poor hospitality in not offering you some my friend, but this one is a stickler for the rules.”

“I told you, I’m not that kind of drug dealer.” She joked as she inserted the syringe she held into the vial.

Then, Marta felt her stomach drop and a chill run through her entire body when she glanced at the label.

Her ears started ringing, making the sound of Benoit speaking seem like it was coming from far away.

“Oh my god.” She whispered.

The vials had fallen, then she’d been distracted… she’d messed up.

Preoccupied by a pair of blue eyes, a molasses accent and grazing fingers…

And now she had killed someone.


	4. Chapter four

Benoit stood straight, alerted by Marta’s rapidly drained colour and whispered horror that something was very wrong.

“Is there a problem?” Benoit asked, both he and Harlan looking at her cautiously.

She looked up at him with tears welling in her eyes, desperation and panic clear as she turned to Harlan.

“This is what I just gave you a 100 milligrams of.” She said unevenly, raising the vial in a shaky hand. “But I messed up.”

Benoit moved forward, gently taking the vial out of her hand.

‘MORPHINE’ it read.

“You gave me 100 milligrams of the ‘good stuff’?” Harlan confirmed.

Marta whimpered a little before leaping up, throwing herself at her medical bag and digging through it.

“What’s the morphine dosage supposed to be?” Benoit asked, his tone carefully even and calm.

“Three milligrams.” She said, tugging out a plastic pouch with trembling hands.

“Oh, that’s much less.” Harlan said with levity. “So, what happens?”

“I uh, I give you an emergency shot of Naloxone so you don’t die in ten minutes.”

“Huh, no pressure. You know, this is an interesting, efficient method for murder. What do you think Mr Blanc?”

“I think now is no time for jokin’ Harlan.” Benoit said seriously, hovering over Marta as he watched her searching become more and more urgent.

“But if someone switched the meds on purpose, I’d be dead in 10 minutes. And even if the victim knew what had happened as soon as they injected the dose, a country home like this one… the ambulance would take at least 15 minutes to arrive.” Harlan continued to ruminate.

Marta made another distressed sound, her breaths coming in hiccoughs as she started to cry, now emptying her bag on to the carpet to search for the Naloxone.

“That’s only the case if there is no emergency Naloxone.” Benoit said, leaning down to touch Marta’s shoulder.

She stopped her frantic searching, looking up at him. “It- it has to be here, it comes with the emergency kit-“ she said, shaking a plastic pouch at him to take while she delved into her medical bag, desperately searching for any hidden pockets she might find the antidote in. Benoit quickly examined the other vials in his hands and on the floor, his stomach dropping.

“Its… fuck. Harlan, it’s not here. It’s not. Oh my God.” She said, finally giving up to look at Harlan in horror, tears now streaming down her face. 

The three held their breath for a moment, realising what this meant.

“We have to call an ambulance.” Marta broke the silence first, moving to stand up. Benoit beat her to it, picking up the landline and efficiently dialling 911.

All of a sudden, the dial tone cut off.

Harlan’s finger was on the cradle, ending the call before it could even begin. He looked more serious than Benoit had ever seen him.

“Harlan, what’re you-“

“Benoit my friend, I need you to calmly go downstairs to your room and forget that you were ever up here.”

Benoit looked at him in shock.

“No Harlan, we need an ambulance.” Marta spun around to grab her mobile off the bureau and Harlan moved quick as lightning, tripping her over.

“What are you doing, are you nuts?” Marta cried.

“Both of you, listen to me carefully.” Harlan ordered.

“You’re crazy, you need an ambulance-“ Marta rebutted.

“Marta! It’s too late, it’s over. I’m already dead so I need you both to _listen_.”

Both Benoit and Marta paused, looking at him incredulously.

“If what you have said is true, I’m gone – it’s been four minutes, there’s no saving me. That means there’s one last thing for me to do in the world – get you out of this.”

“Wha’? Harlan, no-“ Marta started to say, confused and panicked.

“You need to trust me and do everything I say. You _can’t_ have done this. Think of your mother.”

As Marta scrunched her face up, confusing cutting through her fear, Harlan turned to Benoit.

“She is a good girl – a good person, and she does not deserve what will happen to her if this comes out. You need to walk away.”

For a moment, a brief, weak moment, Benoit _considered_ it.

She was a good person, he trusted Harlan’s judgement – at least, usually trusted it. He obviously was not thinking straight now. Him leaving would not change anything.

He looked at Marta, at her wide eyes and tear streaked face and he wavered further. He knew better than anyone that the law did not always get it right, but…

“No. No we have to get help. Call an ambulance.” Marta instructed him shakily but resolute, sealing her own fate.

Benoit nodded, ignoring Harlan’s “NO” and when he blocked the landline, took out his seldom used mobile phone from his pocket and stepped out of Harlan’s reach, punching in 911.

“How long until symptoms?” he asked Marta briefly, hesitating for one more moment over the dial button and hating himself for it.

“Five minutes? Sweats, disorientation…” Marta said.

“Benoit, if you have any respect for me or what is _right_ , you will hang up that phone.”

 _“911, what is your emergency?”_ echoed in his ear.

He covered the speaker, his instincts niggling at him. They certainly did not have the luxury of time, but he had never ignored his instincts before, for good reason.

“Harlan, how are you feeling?”

“Like if you don’t hang up that bloody phone, I won’t be the only dead man in here!” Harlan threatened.

He hung up.

“No! Benoit, he needs help, he- we have to call somebody.” Marta pleaded.

“It’s no use.” Harlan repeated, turning to grab her by the shoulders now he thought he had Benoit on side. “Think about your mother Marta. I have a plan- it won’t be easy but you have to do exactly as I say. Will you do this Marta? This last thing, for me. For your family.”

Marta was wavering now, feeling same as he, that every second of precious time that passed was taking Harlan further away from help – help that wasn’t coming anyway, _couldn’t_ come in time.

She looked so terrified, Benoit ached for her. And Harlan looked…

“You should be sweating.” He said, cutting through their conversation.

They both looked at him, confused and scared.

“It’s been five minutes, or thereabouts. Why aren’t you sweating? And so steady on your feet – Marta, can adrenalin do that?”

Marta swiped an arm across her wet face. “I- uh, no, no it shouldn’t… he should…” she looked back at Harlan, lost.

“Marta, are you _sure_ you switched the medication?”

“Yes, yes. I, I picked up the toradol…” she said, looking back at the vials she had left on the table.

“Then why don’t I have symptoms?” Harlan joined him in asking, a cautious hope grasping both men.

“I… I don’t…” Marta looked lost now. “I’m sure…” she trailed off.

Benoit was frowning now, deep in turbulent thought.

He smelled a plot. And he was rarely wrong.


	5. Chapter five

Marta was overwhelmed, her heart sustaining a wildly rapid beat in her chest, breathing half-sobs and struggling to understand _why they were just standing there talking_.

Marta crossed the room to Harlan’s side, guiding him to sit down and taking his wrist firmly in hand to measure his pulse.

“Benoit in my bag, can you find the light?” she asked.

Harlan’s pulse was running a bit fast, not unusual for someone in a stressful situation, but at odds with what she should be feeling in a person experiencing a morphine overdose.

Benoit pressed the thin flashlight from her medical bag into her hand and she flashed it in Harlan’s eyes to measure pupil reaction. They should be constricted and slow to respond, but… they weren’t.

“I do not understand.” She murmured, spinning to grab the vials she had left on the table, studying them as if they held the answers. “This is what I gave you!” she said with a frown, shaking the vial labelled ‘morphine’ in her hand.

“It’s been six minutes Marta.” Benoit said gently.

“… so I am _not_ dying?” Harlan asked dryly.

“I… I guess not?” Marta said helplessly. Still, every fibre of her being told her she had injected him with 100ml from the morphine vial!

“Well, that is a relief. That could have taken a dark turn indeed.” Harlan went to stand but Marta pressed him back down.

“No, no I need to monitor you. We should still call an ambulance.” She said, turning to Benoit but he did not move to comply.

“I’m not so sure…” he said contemplatively.

“Well I am!” she said angrily, her emotions still a whirlwind.

“Marta, you are _sure_ that you gave him 100 milligrams of the liquid in that vial,” he said, phrasing it as a statement and not a question. “And yet, it seems like you may as well have injected Harlan with 100 milligrams of saline! It makes no sense.”

Harlan looked shrewdly at Benoit. “You suspect foul play?” he asked slowly.

Marta looked between the two men, her expression all twisted up.

“What’re the odds that _the life-saving antidote_ would be missin’?” Benoit asked, starting to pace. “The very same night you think you switched up the medications?”

Benoit strode across the room and picked up both vials, turning them so the labels faced him. “I watched you pick up a vial with barely a glance and inject Harlan. Which one did you pick up?”

Marta frowned as she was presented with the back of the vials.

“Marta if I told you that Harlan was in pain and he needed morphine, which would you pick?”

“Uh, that one.” She said, indicating the vial in his right hand after barely a second’s hesitation.

Benoit’s eyes were piercing, heavy with meaning as he captured her gaze.

“How do you know?” he pressed, not unkindly.

“I… I just know.” She said, shrugging.

“This one says toradol.” He said of the vial Marta had indicated, his confidence growing in his theory. “There’s a slight difference in the tincture and viscosity and you saw that because you have done this a hundred times. You’re a good nurse Marta.”

Marta was struggling not to cry from the emotional rollercoaster that had been the last few minutes, hope now breaking through.

She adjusted her grip on Harlan’s wrist, comforting herself with his steady pulse.

“Someone switched the medication.” Benoit said to the sombre looking Harlan.

“This was attempted murder.”

****

“Murder?” Harlan said, deeply intrigued. “Yes, I suppose so. Quite ingenious in fact.” He morbidly admired.

“If I’m right, then the odds are that someone that was in your house today, most likely at your party, thinks that you are up here dying of an overdose at Marta’s hands.” Benoit said, fascinated to find himself in the middle of a murder plot rather than investigating its grisly end.

“Well Inspector, I’d say it’s not often you have a living murder victim!” Harlan was getting excited, trying to stand up, only to once again have Marta press him back down.

“No moving until I’m sure you are completely ok.” Marta sniffled but remained adamant, her protective instinct still running high.

Benoit raised a finger to his mouth, a common tic when he was deep in thought.

“They won’t know it has not worked…” he murmured. “They may still have the Naloxone with them, that might be the only evidence we can tie to them…”

He stopped the pacing he had absent-mindedly resumed.

“I think Marta and I need to leave.”

“What? I am not going anywhere.” Marta said firmly.

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Once you are sure Harlan is out of the woods. Is there another way to get back up here without using the creaking staircase?” Benoit asked.

“The trick window.” Harlan responded quickly. “If you climb the trellis around the side of the house, you get to the third storey without coming inside.”

“Why do we need to leave?” Marta asked, frustrated like she was being excluded from the conversation.

Benoit hesitated for a moment.

“Because my dear, the people most likely to kill me are the ones with something to gain – my family. Which means it is possible someone downstairs is waiting for either an ambulance to come screaming up my driveway, or for my body to be discovered tomorrow morning.” Harlan explained, surprisingly devoid of emotion.

“And if someone suspects their plan has not worked, they will get rid of all evidence, including the Naloxone.” Benoit added. “So we will make it look to all the world that you and I have left Harlan, none the wiser that he is about to meet his maker. Then we shall sneak back and put our heads together to discover who could have conceived this plan.”

“You need me? I don’t know about any of this, of families trying to kill each other…” Marta looked disgusted at the thought.

“But I will have questions about everyone that was here tonight and what they know about you, your bag, Harlan’s medication and more. Time is of the essence my dear, so if you would?” he asked, extending a hand to help her stand from where she was kneeling next to Harlan.

Marta looked up at him, her brow furrowed. But she took the proffered hand, smaller than his but fitting perfectly in his palm.

“What do I say to the others? I can’t lie, I’ll puke.”

Benoit felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. Did she mean to say dishonesty had a… regurgitative affect on her person?

“You won’t have to. Walk downstairs quickly, just say goodnight and keep moving. Mr Blanc will be with you – they need to see him leaving too so it is clear that I am completely alone. Drive your cars down the driveway and out of sight – park in the tree line. Then there is a side gate – the dogs know you Marta, they won’t bark at you or Mr Blanc if you’re with him. Then climb the trellis and get back up here to help me figure out who is trying to kill me.” Harlan told her firmly.

Benoit narrowed his eyes at the quickly but thoroughly plotted out plan Harlan spit out with almost no time to think about it, but he supposed he shouldn’t expect anything less from a mystery writer like him.

“Dry your eyes, put on a brave face.” Harlan told her softly, his care for this woman bleeding through his voice. Marta swiped her hand over her face.

“That’s a girl. Now you need to move.”

Benoit reached out, planting a hand on her back gently in both a gesture of support and to give Marta the push she needed to step away from her patient.

“We’ll be back in minutes.” He said comfortingly and she nodded in response.

“Just – don’t move and if you start feeling dizzy or nauseous, call 911.” She turned in the doorway to fret at Harlan again, who wisely nodded his assent.

“He’ll be just fine.” Benoit said to her in a low voice as they started down the stairs.

“I can’t believe this is happening…” she whispered.

“Hey,” he said, stopping her on the landing with a hold on her elbow. They were only inches apart on the staircase landing, Marta’s helpless eyes looking up at him, tugging on every heart string he had. “I know this is scary and too much to ask of someone – but Marta Cabrera, you are made of tough stuff. We need you, we need your insight.”

“I don’t have any insight on _attempted_ _murder_.” She insisted again.

“You have medical training that Harlan and I do not, and an understanding of this family. And what’s more, you have a kind heart. Harlan may be swept up in the intellectual challenge right now, but the truth will soon out and he will come to feel the full weight of betrayal of having someone he called ‘kin’ tryin’-a kill him.”

She broke eye contact then, empathy making her eyes well with tears again.

“We need you Marta. And I’ll be with you every step of the way.” He guaranteed softly.

Marta let out a shaky breath before nodding and straightening her spine. They continued quickly down the stairs. Joni had gone to bed and the others did not know that Benoit had been invited to stay the night, so both grabbed their coats before exiting the front door.

“Goodnight Walt!” Marta called, and without even a nervous look over at Benoit, she walked briskly over to her car – the blue Hyundai parked around the corner.

“It was good to see you again Walter.” Benoit shook his hand with a congenial smile. Was he shaking the hand of someone who believed they were committing patricide at this very moment? Walt looked troubled, puffing on his cigar compulsively, but Benoit was unsure…

“Yes, yes – goodnight.” He said, retreating back into his deep thoughts.

Benoit continued to his vehicle at a more sedate pace than Marta. By the time he pulled out and headed back down the drive, Marta’s taillights were disappearing around the curve.

He let a frown break through his even expression now he was alone. Not only had someone tried to murder Harlan, they had tried to use Marta to do it. Perhaps not as capital a crime as murder, but there was something very cold and malicious about the idea of burdening someone so kind and clearly loving toward Harlan with responsibility for his demise.

Between the three of them, they would figure it out and bring the perpetrator to justice – for Harlan and for Marta.

Benoit pulled off the road after the elephant statue, his headlights illuminating Marta standing beside her own parked car.

Silently, the two of them continued down the access path to a side gate, mud squelching under their feet as they went.

The dogs were on them immediately, running toward Marta to be pet. One barked at Benoit, a single sound cutting through the air until Marta hushed the animal. They followed as Marta and Benoit made their way to the house.

The blue trellis climbing the side of the house was easy to spot. Benoit reached out and shook it slightly, testing its durability. It hardly moved, which was heartening. It would most likely not have a problem under Marta’s petite weight, but he was considerably more dense. He was not adverse to taking the odd risk every now and again however.

“Up you go Watson.” He said, making light of the daunting physical task with the detective-assistant quip.

“You gotta be kidding me.” She said, looking between him and the trellis.

“Don’t worry, I’ll catch you if you fall.” He promised with a little smile.

“Don’t be cute – I’d break your bones.” She groaned slightly under her breath before hoisting herself up.

Benoit couldn’t help but raise his arms to hover over her back, ready to support her should she misstep. However Marta quickly surpassed his reach, moving spryly up the building. For every large gain she made, she let out a half-grunt half-gasp that had no right to sound as titillating as it did. He blamed the adrenalin for his inappropriate thoughts.

Then his heart stopped as she stepped on one of the lengths of timber and the wood splintered beneath her feet.

“Ah!” She cried as she slipped, barely managing to hold on to the wooden frame.

“Marta!” He cried softly, having rapidly found himself standing directly under her in an unconscious attempt to break her fall with his own body.

“I- I’m ok…” came her gasping reply.

“Oh dear lord in heaven…” he hissed out, his heart now galloping in his chest.

She reached the top, to his heavy relief.

“Be careful.” She hissed down at him.

Benoit stepped up to the base of the blue woodwork and promptly froze.

There, standing in the window and looking right at him, was Mrs Thrombey, Harlan’s mother.

In shock, they stared at each other for a few beats before she croaked, “Ransom? Are you back again already?”

Benoit moved slowly but had no choice but to follow Marta up the side of the building.

Besides, he was fairly certain Harlan’s 100 year old mother was not the one who tried to kill him.

He kept his body close to the trellis, knowing that tempting the frame and gravity with his heavier mass would perhaps result in an actual dead body on the grounds this evening. Marta had already opened the trick window, unlatching the fake wall and crawled into the house. He knew she was leaning out the window to anxiously watch him ascend, though he dare not dart a glance up at her.

“C’mon… careful…” He could make out her muttering as he came to the top of the trellis.

No sooner than he had grabbed the window frame than her arms came through, her small hands gripping his coat hard in an effort to pull him in.

Certainly if he slipped, she would have little hope of holding up his weight, but the fact that she would try spoke to her character.

She kept hold of him until he had both feet safely on the carpet inside.

“Much obliged.” He said, still slightly breathless from the climb and quietly pleased by her sweetly grasping hands.

Harlan had pulled out a notepad and was scribbling away but had remained in the chair as per Marta’s urging. He heard Marta’s sigh of relief at seeing him still healthy and well.

“You both had better sit down – I have a list of suspects and motives for who might want me dead.” Harlan said gravely. “It’s proving to be a very interesting, albeit melancholic, exercise.”

Marta and Benoit gathered around the coffee table, settling in to identify the vulture circling over the Thrombey family.


	6. Chapter six

“Mr Blanc, why don’t you lead us off? Treat this as you would any murder investigation.” Harlan requested.

“Harlan.” Marta rebuked. She hated to hear those words.

“The obvious motive is money, so why don’t we start there. You said you ‘cut the line on all four of them’ tonight? Who were the four?” Benoit leaned forward on his knees, intent on Harlan’s answers.

“The first was Richard. He’s having an affair – I gave him until tomorrow to tell Linda or she will get a letter from me explaining to her what he’s been up to.”

“Am I to assume he would be left rather worse for wear in the event of a divorce?”

Harlan chuckled briefly and darkly. “The word ‘destitute’ comes to mind. The prenup is solid and the real estate firm is in Linda’s name.”

Benoit nodded. “And next?”

“Joni. Head-in-the-clouds Joni,” Harlan sighed. “This silly ‘Flam’ venture has bled her dry and I found she’s been double dipping with Meg’s college money. I’m cutting off her allowance, she’s going to have to find a way to stand on her own two feet.” Harlan explained.

Again, Benoit indicated his understanding, not all struggling to fit this with the Joni he had met this evening.

“And Walt?” he asked.

Harlan smiled sadly. “Walt… I’m freeing him of the burden of my work. He was shocked, and he’ll hate it at first, but he won’t be working at the publishing house anymore. He’s got to find something for himself.”

“Hate it enough to kill you over it?” Benoit asked bluntly.

Marta’s frown deepened and she fought the urge to interrupt and defend Walt. The truth was she did not know who could have done this but for any of their faults, Richard, Joni and Walt were not killers. They loved Harlan and though their lifestyles were about to undergo some serious downgrades, surely they knew that Harlan wouldn’t let anything truly terrible befall them?

“No, I don’t think so. Or maybe, I don’t want to think so.” Harlan sighed.

“Truthfully, my death tonight would solve all of their immediate problems… but I don’t think any of them are vicious enough for this, or smart enough for that matter. There’s only one person I can truly imagine fabricating a plan like this…” Harlan said, reluctant to give voice to it.

“Who?” Benoit asked.

Harlan looked pained, truly hurt for the first time since the series of dark events had started.

“… Ransom.” Marta spoke softly, trying to save Harlan the pain of having to shine the light on his grandson.

Benoit looked between them. “Linda’s son?”

Harlan nodded. “He left before you arrived. I told him I was cutting him off, we started shouting…” he sighed, tired. “We’re too alike, we grate on each other like sandpaper, yet he’s still my favourite. I told him everything, about the will and… everything.”

“What about the will?” Benoit coaxed.

Harlan looked at Marta now, pausing for a moment. She frowned – she knew all about his family, their various misdeeds and new misfortunes, but he had not mentioned anything about his will other than Ransom being written out?

“I told him I wrote him out of it…”

Benoit frowned. “Surely that’s the opposite of a motive? Would he not try to endear himself into your good graces again rather than arrange for your demise?”

Harlan shook his head. “It’s not just that he was out. They all are. I’ve left everything to Marta.”

Marta reeled back as though he had said something obscene. She blinked as she tried to process the magnitude of what he had said.

“Wha’?... No, Harlan…” shock made her speech clumsy.

“My dear,” he leaned forward, placing his hand on her arm she had braced on her knees. “Money has twisted my family into dark, selfish, helpless things. It will do them no good. There is only one person in my life I trust to manage my money and my legacy without losing themselves, and that is you.”

“Harlan no! No I can’t… I don’t _want_ your money!” she insisted, a frantic note entering her voice. What would she do with millions of dollars and a publishing house?

“Lucky for us, I should have some time yet to convince you.” Harlan said, not giving an inch.

“We _will_ talk about his abuelo.” Marta said firmly.

“Was Ransom the only one that knew about the changed will and Marta getting everythin’?” Benoit asked.

Harlan nodded.

“So he’s the only one that knew that in the case of your death, he and his other relatives would receive nothing.” Benoit said thoughtfully.

“Revenge can be a strong motivator, but Ransom is more devious than that – he wouldn’t do something this risky unless there was a proportional benefit for him.” Harlan said.

After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Marta interrupted. “So that’s it? Ransom had no motive and the others were not capable?”

“I don’t think so,” Benoit said. “When Marta and I were climbin’ up here, your mother saw me in the window. Something about the way she said…” he trailed off briefly.

“’Ransom, are you back again already?’ Back _again_.” He continued. “He left before I even arrived, he had time to sneak back into the house – the same way we did – and switch the medicines.”

“I made the alterations to my will last week. It is too late.” Harlan reminded him.

“Yes, yes, quite unchangeable…” Benoit said thoughtfully. Then Marta watched his entire demeanour change, his eyes lit up as he slotted the puzzle together.

“The Slayer rule.”

“Yes, of course! Ransom would know about that from the summer he did research for me. I was going to add a subplot about a private doctor but the motive didn’t fit…” Harlan said.

“What’s the ‘slayer rule’?” Marta asked.

“If you were responsible for Harlan’s death, even accidentally, it would nullify the changed will. Ransom would get his share of Harlan’s fortune once again.” Benoit explained.

“That little shit.” Harlan hissed. “He left the party, looped back and climbed up here to switch the medicines-“

“-and take the Naloxone-“ Benoit added.

“-to frame Marta for causing my death.” He paused to look Benoit dead in the eye. “We have to nail the little bastard.”

Benoit was frowning now. “We have to proceed carefully – attempted murder is difficult to prove, especially when Marta made sure zero harm came to the intended victim.”

Marta flushed slightly at the compliment.

“We can get the medical bag and vials dusted for prints, though mine and Marta’s may have made any he left behind illegible. Our best shot it to catch him with the Naloxone.” He finished.

“Ransom will be expecting to hear tomorrow about an accidental overdose and my death. There will be an investigation by the police and insurance agency, he will have to return the Naloxone to the bag to cinch the case.” Harlan thought out loud.

“Which means he will be returning tonight to put it back. If we can get him on film, we’ll have the evidence we need.”

Harlan stood up, picking up the laptop from his desk and firing it up.

“Marta, you’ll need to put the bag back to where you found it this evening. That will be the first place he looks. We want to catch him putting back the Naloxone before he sees me. I’ll lay up here in the study and play dead, but if he cottons on or catches me breathing, he’ll realise his plan hasn’t worked and we’ll lose the upper hand.” He instructed.

“And we are to be the lookouts?” Benoit queried.

“If you please. He will come back up the trick window, down to the bedroom, put the medicines to rights… we’ll set up the laptop to record...”

Harlan frowned then. “I’m missing something…” he muttered to himself.

“The dogs.” Marta piped up. Both men turned to face her at the non-sequitur. “The dogs bark at Ransom, they’ll wake up the house if they catch him.”

“Clever Marta, an excellent catch! Will you go down and herd them into the shed for the night?” Harlan asked.

“I’m not going up and down that trellis again.” She insisted.

“No need – now we know it is Ransom, we don’t need to hide from the people sleeping downstairs.” Benoit assured her.

*** 

Marta crept downstairs, staying silent. She remained unmolested as everyone had long gone to bed. She stepped out the back patio, heading toward the large, insulated dog kennels – they were fancier than some houses.

Before she stepped off the stairs, she felt a hand on her back and a voice whisper her name.

Marta let out a sharp gasp, barely aborting a scream.

“I’m sorry, sorry-“ Benoit apologised, holding up his hands in surrender with an apologetic expression.

“I belatedly realised that sending a lady out into the dark night with an attempted murderer on the loose was not terribly gallant of me.” He explained his presence.

“Oh.” She breathed. She hadn’t thought of what she would do if she ran into Ransom on the grounds. What do you say to someone that tried to get you to kill their grandfather and your close friend?

She busied herself in calling the dogs who were sniffing around the garden. She led them to the shed and made sure they had water, Benoit following her like a protective shadow.

As they made their way back to the house, Benoit walked close on her right and asked lowly, “how’re you doin’?”

“Ok.” She answered automatically.

“I’d be surprised if you were.” he replied. 

Marta thought for a moment, realising he wanted a genuine answer.

“Not great. But compared to how I felt half an hour ago? Relieved as hell.” She said with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t there… I thought-“ she paused as she swallowed heavily, a lump forming in her throat as she thought about what had happened –“I thought I had killed him, that I let myself be distracted and made a stupid and fatal mistake…”

“But you didn’t – you’re a good nurse Marta. A great one – most other people would have been caught by the switch, but your instincts _saved_ your patient.” Benoit was resolute.

Marta sniffled slightly, but no new tears fell. “Thank you.” She said in a small voice.

He patted her back comfortingly, a brief, platonic gesture. Marta found herself gripped by a sudden desire for Benoit to wrap his arms around her in a warm, comforting hug. She could never ask for that, so she wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to slightly redirect the conversation.

“Is this what you do all day? Foiling plots and catching criminals?” she weakly joked.

“Not exactly. I am not usually swept up in the act itself. My work requires me to observe the facts without biases of the head or heart. I can report that tonight, it has been much harder to do my job.”

“Because you know Harlan?”

“Because I _like_ Harlan… and I like you too. You have a kind heart Marta.” He had said that earlier. It made her feel warm – it was such an untraditional and genuine compliment.

Marta was saved from having to think of a reply that wasn’t ‘I think you’re wonderful, kind, smart and good’ by re-entering the house and having to fall silent to tread back upstairs.

Now, there was nothing left to do but wait.


	7. Chapter seven

Benoit shifted the couch slightly, enough to give him a decent angle on the platform that Ransom would have to use to reach the trellis, but not so different that he would be alarmed by the change when glancing in the window. Marta was standing by the window, mostly obscured by curtains to watch for any movement across the grounds.

He half laid on the couch, trying to find the most comfortable position from which to peer over the back and out the window without being clearly visible or straining his neck too badly. It wouldn’t be a comfortable couple of hours, but it would do.

“Well, here is our camp for the next however-long.” Benoit said.

Marta walked over to him and with a short, self-conscious clearing of her throat, she took a seat on the other end of the couch, slumping down to hide herself from view of the window.

Benoit was slightly surprised, but not unpleasantly so. He had not meant that she had to join him on this couch - she could have hidden in any of the other five hiding spots in the room he had scoped out. But he was not about to tell her she could move – mostly because he knew it would embarrass her and also, selfishly, he was happy to have her so close. Their legs pressed against each other all the way to the thigh. If Marta weren’t so petite, their entwinement would be far less decent.

He thought that Marta’s cheeks were slightly flushed, though it was hard to tell in the dark. She had her gaze averted down on her phone, where she dialled Harlan’s number.

He picked up right away.

“Harlan, we’re in position.” She said.

“Yes, thank you SWAT.” Marta rolled her eyes at Harlan’s response. “I’ll keep the channel open but please feel free to mute yourselves.”

“Eres tal un niño…” Marta muttered under her breath, pointedly before she hit mute.

Marta darted a glance up at him and he realised he had been staring quite blatantly and switched his gaze to the window.

“I never asked before – do you live in Boston?”

Benoit’s lips twitched up.

“ _It will be your job to keep him awake and alert_.” Harlan had told her as he shooed her downstairs to be lookout with Benoit rather than hide upstairs with him.

It seemed like she was taking her duties to heart.

“I have a house there yes, but I spend much of my time on the road.” Benoit told her, resisting the instinct to look at the person he was talking to.

“Where do you go?” she asked.

“All sorts of places. Across the country to consult with different law enforcement departments, a few private, international consultations. The less said about my time in Egypt, the better.”

“People really pay you to travel that far?”

Benoit made a humming noise of assent under his breath.

“Why do you do it?” she asked quietly.

“Why do I travel? Or why am I a private investigator?” he clarified.

“No, I understand travel. I have always wanted to travel. Why do you investigate? Why do you wade into the darkest parts of humanity?” she asked seriously.

Benoit paused for a long time to consider his answer, wanting to respond in a way that respected the gravity of her question.

“I suppose you could say there are a multitude of reasons,” he said, feeling that he could speak of all of them to Marta and she would calmly and kindly accept them all, without judgement.

“It’s what my father did and I wanted to make him proud…” he started.

“Then I realised I had a talent for it. Not to toot my own horn, but I had a way of reading people and noticing things that my colleagues did not. I won’t deny I get a sense of satisfaction from untangling a mystery, like solvin’ a puzzle.”

“And… this is the best way I know to help people. It does little in the way of a balm to soothe the sad souls of those left behind, but bringing killers to justice, making sure that wrongs do not go unrighted – well, I guess I would consider that my salvation.”

He spared a glance away from the still window to Marta and found her studying him, her head tilted thoughtfully.

“I think perhaps _you_ have a kind heart also Mr Benoit Blanc.” She said sincerely.

“Deep down…” he half joked, but softened when Marta didn’t crack a smile. “I hope I do.”

They switched to lighter topics for the next half hour or so, Benoit asking about places Marta wanted to go and her in turn asking him about where he’d been.

He was telling her about the two weeks he spent in New Orleans over Mardi Gras when he abruptly cut himself off, a hint of movement catching his eye outside.

“Woah woah, we might have some action here.” He said.

He pulled up his own phone and opened the camera app, making sure the flash was turned off and it was focused to the low light outside.

He felt Marta tense where their bodies were touching and she unmuted her phone.

“Harlan, Benoit sees something…” she said tensely.

Benoit watched through the screen as a handsome young man jumped up on to the platform, reaching up to grab the trellis and hauling himself up easily. He took a burst of photos, capturing the face he knew to be Ransom’s.

“It’s him.” He said curtly, loud enough for Harlan to hear him over the phone.

“Harlan, he’ll be up there in seconds. Will you be ok?” Marta whispered into the speaker.

“Yes my dear, now please – mute yourselves.”

Marta did as she was bid, pressing mute on the phone screen.

All there was left to do was wait. It was an excruciating ten minutes, nothing to listen to but the soft sounds of all three of their breathing and a murmur too soft to make out.

Finally, _finally_ , they heard the creaking of the trellis and _thump_ as Ransom jumped the last several inches off the structure. Benoit caught one last short burst of photos, enough to capture his sickening, self-satisfied smirk.

They waited another sixty seconds, Marta peaking her head up and over the couch to watch Ransom’s figure be lost to the darkness once more.

Benoit and Marta got off the couch, a tangle of limbs that made Marta blush once more while Benoit straightened his back with a dull crack, absently mourning the waste of being curled up with a beautiful woman in such an unromantic situation.

They hurried back upstairs, silent but for the loud creaking of the staircase leading up to the third storey. Harlan was in the bedroom, bringing up the video they had recorded on the laptop sneakily pointed at the entrance to the bedroom.

No one spoke as Harlan skipped the video back to Ransom walking into the room. Marta put a silent, supportive hand on Harlan’s shoulder as they watched Ransom pull out the two vials and use syringes to switch the medicines back to reflect the proper labeling and drop the Naloxone from his pocket back into the clear plastic bag. He walked out the door without so much as a wince or shade of regret.

“He stopped in the study. I felt his eyes on me – “I warned you” he said.” Harlan sounded tired. This was an empty victory for him and he was realising that now.

“I’m so sorry Harlan.” Marta said softly, holding both his shoulders now and dropping her chin on to the hand on his left shoulder in a more intimate gesture of consolation.

“I’ll call the police.” Benoit said softly, stepping out to the far end of the hall to call the local police station and asked to be put in contact with the closest they had to a senior homicide detective.

He apologised for waking Lieutenant Elliott before delving into detail on what had occurred, requesting he come out to the house as soon as he was dressed and caffeinated.

Benoit walked back in the room, finding that Harlan had turned in his chair, leaning heavily on the back rest, Marta holding his hand and murmuring softly to him.

“They’ll be here in a half hour or so. Why don’t we take the laptop downstairs and get some coffee on?”


	8. Chapter eight

The police arrived in forty-five minutes, cranky at the early hour but professional nonetheless. Their arrival and subsequent passing through the mansion slowly woke the household. First Linda, who was irritable having been kept up most of the night by the creaking staircase, then Meg who was also a light sleeper. Richard and Joni soon joined them in demanding to know what was happening.

“Ransom tried to kill me last night. The police are gathering evidence and statements.” Harlan eventually barked. Admittedly not the kindest or most sensitive way to break the news, especially to his parents, but Benoit supposed Harlan had every right to be short this morning.

After that blow up, the police split the family up to keep the screaming to a minimum and prevent anyone from calling Ransom before they could get an arrest warrant authorised. Harlan and Marta went to Harlan’s study and closed the door, Benoit staying with Lieutenant Elliott and his people.

Crime scene technicians arrived some hours later to undergo the formal process of dusting for prints and gathering forensic evidence upstairs where they had left Marta’s medical bag untouched. With them came the decision to record everyone’s statement individually in the library. Benoit was happy to go first, setting the entire scene as the closest-to-an-outsider perspective they had. Hopefully this would make it slightly easier and less stressful for Harlan and Marta in turn.

***

Marta knew she was fussing and being slightly overbearing, taking Harlan’s blood pressure while she was on the phone with his prescribing doctor explaining that they needed brand new toradol and morphine prescriptions due to a ‘tampering incident’.

Harlan was allowing it however, as a comfort to both of them.

“Thank you doctor, I will pick it up this afternoon.” Marta hung up the phone, pleased to see Harlan’s BP was normal.

“I’ve been writing my novels for 65 years. I’ve never come up with a murder plot quite like this, almost perfect in fact. I’m feeling quite inspired. Would it be too gauche to write about my own attempted murder?” he asked.

“Harlan, that is twisted.” Marta informed him.

Harlan chuckled. “All the best novels are my dear.”

“Why don’t we take some time instead to be grateful that we are alive and well, before you turn the most stressful night of my life into a bestseller, hmm?” Marta asked.

“Alive and well thanks to you.” Harlan reminded her.

Though it was a kind expression of gratitude, Marta’s stomach knotted once more at the memory of those harrowing moments she thought she had overdosed him on morphine.

“About that…” she started hesitantly.

“You had best not be able to spout some nonsense about taking time off or finding a new nurse.” He warned her.

Marta’s hesitation turned to annoyance. He could read her like a book.

“But Harlan-“

“I trusted you with my life Marta, and after tonight’s events, I trust you even more. I do not want or need a new nurse, and you don’t need time to dwell on what could have gone wrong.”

He was probably right, stopping working would probably worsen her shaken confidence. But that was not the only thing on Marta’s mind to talk about.

“And I suppose if I stay on, I will earn my inheritance, huh?” she asked.

“Well yes, I suppose you will.” Harlan sniffed.

“I don’t want your money Harlan.” She tried to speak with a sense of finality.

“And that my dear, is precisely why I need to burden _you_ with it.”

“I wouldn’t know the first thing about what to do with all this.” She said, gesturing broadly at the house.

“When you have millions, you pay other people to worry about that.” Harlan informed her with a spark of amusement, not paying the slightest bit of attention to her reluctance.

She scoffed slightly.

“Think of me Marta, poor old me. I will sleep better knowing that you will do everything you can to prolong my life in order to put off dealing with _all this_.” He said, an imitation of her hand waving.

Marta sighed, letting the argument die – for now. “You know that’s not the reason, right? Why I take care of you?”

“Mmm.”

“I love you abuelo.” Marta said softly.

Harlan smiled gently at her. “And I you my dear.”

The tender moment was quickly interrupted by a knock at the door, Benoit entering after a beat.

“I’m sorry to interrupt- Marta, they’re waiting for your statement.”

Marta nodded, nervously tugging her jumper straight.

“Hey,” Benoit stopped her with a gentle tap of fingers on her arm. “You don’t have anything to be nervous about. Just tell the truth, from start to finish, ok?”

“Right, not like I have a choice right?” Marta joked absently.

At Benoit’s puzzled look, she blushed.

“I just- I mean, you know…” realising that of course he probably didn’t remember her much earlier confession that she got sick when she lied, let alone think she was serious, she decided to protect the shreds of her dignity and make a quick exit.

****

Benoit’s gaze followed Marta out of the room until the door closed behind her with a click.

“How’re you Harlan?” he asked, making himself comfortable in one of the chairs facing the desk.

“Coping just fine. I’ll be better when all of these people are out of my house.” He commented.

“Another hour or so, I imagine all the officials will clear out. I’d he happy to help chase out any lingering, unwanted family members before I get out of your hair.” He offered.

“No – thank you my friend, but I think I am well overdue for some frank and uncomfortable conversations with my family. We’ll never get anything fixed unless we acknowledge our problems.”

Benoit nodded his head. “I admire a man who can face his problems head on.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments before Benoit asked a question he had been thinking about since recounting the tale in full to the police.

“When Marta first thought that she had switched the medication…. You told me to walk away, pretend I hadn’t seen anythin’. What were you plannin’ on doing?” he asked curiously.

Harlan sighed, leaning forward in my chair.

“I was going to kill myself so the police would rule my death a suicide without an autopsy or bloodwork.”

Benoit’s eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly in shock. He didn’t know what to rightly say.

“Don’t worry, I’m not actually suicidal – you don’t have to alert the authorities.” Harlan said with a tight smile. “But in that moment, I knew I had to set things right. Marta couldn’t be to blame for my death. I was going to chase you out, tell Marta how to leave and get back up to the house and wear my dressing gown to make it seem like I made an appearance in front of Walt, so she would be cleared of any suspicion.”

Harlan leaned back now, looking at Benoit. “You were the wildcard. You are a man of the law but also a moral one- I had hoped that knowing Marta, even for a brief time, would have convinced you to protect her.”

“That’s… quite an assumption. Not to mention a very bold action to subvert suspicion away from Marta.” Benoit said upon consideration.

“No one could ever accuse me of being undramatic.” Harlan said. “But the reason I’m telling you this is because I think you’re already beginning to understand it – Marta is a good girl. She has, as you say, a ‘kind heart’ and I have her up on a pedestal as being one of the few truly good people left in this world. This shows you how much that girl means to me, and how invested I am in her future…” Harlan was looking at him differently now, shifted back into the more mischievous persona he was used to seeing when Harlan was in high spirits.

“I understand…” Benoit said, waiting for Harlan to wrap up the threads of meaning he had carefully laid to reach his point.

“Good! And I trust your intellect and understanding of the lengths men can go to, to fill in the more explicit details of what might happen to you if you hurt that girl.” Harlan said, his cheery voice at odds with the dark implication.

Benoit frowned but it quickly clicked in his head what Harlan was alluding to. Still, he asked, “I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning?”

“The ‘shovel’ talk Mr Blanc – surely a good handful of ‘Southern Daddy’s’ have subjected you to this in the past? I’m afraid I’m not as practiced as I should be – I should have done better with Richard. Of course, he is too much of an arrogant prick to really comprehend the realm of danger he now finds himself in, and Linda would have scolded me for thinking she couldn’t take care of herself… but Marta is a different kind of strong, not so confrontational or perhaps ready to cut ties with people undeserving of her time and attention…” Harlan rambled thoughtfully.

“Harlan!” Benoit interrupted, still somewhat perplexed, and he was ashamed to say, a bit embarrassed – uncomfortably like he was a teenager again. “I believe the shovel talk is traditionally reserved for paramours.”

Harlan rolled his eyes. “Call it pre-emptive then.”

“I hardly think this is a time for match-makin’.”

“Bah! This plot has been in motion for longer than Ransom’s, I’m not giving up on the home stretch. Ask the girl out, be a gentleman. I think she will be quite amenable to being swept off her feet by a dashing fellow like yourself.”

“I doubt Marta would deem this an appropriate time for romancin’, particularly not coming from an old, murder-solvin’ reminder of the worst night of her life.” Benoit shot back.

“You’ll never know if you don’t ask. Think on it.” Harlan said, completely nonchalant.

And Benoit did. For the next hour, as Harlan disappeared into the library to cap-off the statements and Linda and the family tried to corner himself and Marta multiple times to interrogate them, he thought about Marta. They _had_ gotten along very well, but a pretty woman chatting with a stranger at a party did not necessarily invite this type of romantic attention. What’s more, she had since been _traumatised_ and almost framed for murder.

Benoit was sure all Marta wanted to do was escape this house, go home and sleep. He would not burden her with anything else.

As he dropped his bag in the entry way, he walked quietly passed the drawing room that Harlan was in with his children (Walt having arrived after receiving a call from Joni) and poked his head into the kitchen to say goodbye to Marta.

He found her there sitting with Fran, staring into a full cup of coffee sat in front of her.

“I came to say goodbye.” He piped up. Marta’s head snapped around as his words pulled her from her thoughts.

“You’re leaving?” Marta asked, standing up.

Fran silently stood up and walked into the butler’s pantry, busying herself.

“Yes. I’ve passed on all my contact details to the Lieutenant should they have any more questions, and I’ll have to come back for the hearing… but I don’t want to intrude any further. The rest is family business.”

Marta nodded, her hands joined in front of her fidgeting.

“Will you stay in town for the night?” she enquired.

“Naw. I’ll make my way home…”

Marta was frowning now. “But you haven’t slept all night. You can’t drive all the way to Boston, you’ll fall asleep at the wheel.”

“Don’t you worry – I’ve done longer, more arduous hours than this.” Benoit said with a charming smile.

“But I _will_ worry.” She said simply.

He softened. He could not in good conscience contribute any more stress to the poor woman’s plate.

“You’re right – I promise I’ll check in to my hotel and get some shut-eye. You should consider doin’ the same.” He said.

Marta ducked her head with a tiny frown pulling at her brow. “It’s strange - I feel exhausted but like I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I tried.”

“Mmm, some left over adrenalin perhaps…”

They fell silent for a moment. This was it. They had no more business together, no reason for Benoit to linger any longer in Harlan’s house. He would wish her well and get on his way.

But he didn’t want to.

Those big, sweet eyes looking up at him, the sincere and guileless way she spoke, chastising him into taking care of himself while she sat here exhausted but wanting to make sure Harlan was ok. She was kind, sweet, smart and so damn pretty.

Maybe it _was_ worth taking a chance.

“I find a hearty meal does wonders for shock and exhaustion. It would be my pleasure to take you out for breakfast.” He offered, a few stray butterflies beating their wings in his belly.

Marta seem surprised but pleased. “Yeah, I’d like that…” she said with a small smile, his keen ear picking up the slightly breathless note in her voice.

“Oh but Harlan-“ she started, her expression slipping to what he thought might be disappointment.

“He’ll be fine, I’ll be here to look over him and the rest. Now you best skedaddle – I have to get this kitchen working.” Fran came bustling out of the Butler’s pantry, having obviously listened to everything they had said. Maybe Benoit was more tired than he thought, he had forgotten she was even there.

Fran was now all but pushing Marta out of the kitchen door. “Don’t forget your coat. I’ll drive into town to pick up Harlan’s new meds this afternoon, and I don’t want to see you back here before dinnertime.” She said.

Fran shot what she must have thought was a sneaky wink at Marta, but was not sly enough to escape Benoit’s notice.

It seemed that matchmaking was a hobby in the household.

He picked out Marta’s coat from the rack, offering to help her into it – if we was going to take a woman out for a meal, even a post crime-derailing remedial one, he was going to mind all his manners and do it right.

“After you.” He offered with a smile, opening the front door for Marta to walk through.

She ducked her head slightly in thanks, but Benoit’s eyes were drawn to her full lips stretched into a soft, pleased smile, the weight of the night easing off her shoulders ever so slightly.

His own smile widened in response.

Well worth a chance indeed.


	9. Chapter nine

_5 weeks later_

Benoit calls her every day. And every day, she is surprised and delighted to see his name pop up on her phone screen.

Their first date, getting breakfast after that horrible night, was surprisingly pleasant and fun given the circumstances. She had been sad to say goodbye, giving him a lingering kiss on the cheek and wishing she had been brave enough to go for the lips.

But then he had asked permission – _permission_ – to call her.

She had spent many a night since curled up in bed, her phone pressed to her ear as they spoke into the early hours, not stopping until her whispers started to trail off and her eyes began to droop.

It was not always hours and hours of talking of course- sometimes he was deeply in the weeds of a new case, which took him to different time zones, and often had harrowing timelines in which he had to solve the crime. But still, he always managed to call her and speak for a few minutes, to let her know that he was thinking about her and she was important to him.

That was the strangest, most wonderful thing about it – he never played games or shied away from what he was really thinking or feeling. He gave her his full attention, like hearing about her day with Harlan or her nursing stories was the most important and interesting thing he could be doing.

“You are fascinatin’ to me Marta,” he had told her when she eventually asked. “Every story, the way you explain the events and the characters, reveals more and more about you. I find myself immensely charmed by it all.”

She had – and still does, in her most insecure moments – expected him to grow bored of their relationship and drift away. Benoit had only managed to get back to town twice more, and she had not felt ready to leave Harlan and get to Boston – not to mention the cost and the chance that he might be called away to another part of the country. But he seemed comfortable with the slow pace their distance set for them. In fact, he hadn’t even properly kissed her until their third date.

Marta had never been a terribly promiscuous person, but the anticipation for his touch was growing past sweet and into desperate. Hours of charming conversation, intimate confessions, romantic day dreams – all punctuated by too-brief meetings with innocent touches and sweet kisses – was driving her crazy.

She thought about him all the time. Her musings would rapidly turn from his charm and wit to whether his accent would be even more pronounced in the bedroom, what he would look like without the layers of clothes New England forced him to cover up with, what he would feel like on top of her, whether he would be so careful and gentlemanly once she had her mouth on him…

Her increasing sexual frustration led to her current occupation.

Benoit wasn’t one for texting - he texted sometimes, mostly when he was busy running from place to place but didn’t want to lose contact with her for too long. But he preferred phone calls and FaceTime, so he could have a focused conversation.

However she figured it was more sporting to start with a sexy picture rather than diving headfirst into a sexy video chat.

It was her first time trying a photo like this, so she had spent some time trawling through Google images to find some inspiration. Once she sorted out the truly pornographic ones (she was not ready for that and probably never would be), she had her design.

The nicest bra she had was a red lacy one, something she wore only when she was going on a date that could end with her clothes coming off – an occasion that had been sadly few and far between. She wore just that and a pair of sweatpants. She rolled the waistband down to sit low on his hips, to make sure it wouldn’t be in frame.

She pooled the top sheet of her bedding around her hips, the arm that was not holding her phone tight against her torso to subtly press her breasts together and enhance her cleavage. She raised the phone with the front camera on, trying to capture her slightly parted lips at the top of the frame with her scantily clad torso taking centre stage.

It took half an hour and at least 30 attempts before she scrolled back through her camera roll and picked the one with the best lighting, the angle of the light framing her breasts and creating a line down her waist, ending at the sheet that was pulled especially low, suggesting she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

It took another 15 minutes to think of a message to include with the pic. Eventually she picked the cliched but suggestive “thinking of you x” and took a deep breath, double-checking the “To” box before clicking send.

Marta sat and watched the screen, gnawing on her bottom lip. It took her about ten seconds to starting doubting her decision. Benoit had such old school manners, had not made any overtly sexual overtures to her… what if this put him off? What if he thought it was trashy or too forward? Maybe she should message him again-

Her screen lit up.

“Benoit Blanc <3 Calling…”

The butterflies in her belly were flapping wildly as she took another breath, answering with a shaky “Hello?”

“Marta…” his voice was lower than normal as he spoke, almost reverently. The sound sent a warm thrill through her body, pooling in her stomach.

“I must say, that was the most pleasant surprise I’ve experienced in a quite a while.” Benoit purred.

Marta felt her face flushing and was not able to help the shy smile that stretched across her face.

“Really? You don’t think its…” she trailed off, unsure what she was trying to say but wanting a bit more reassurance that he welcomed that kind of image.

“I think it’s amazing – I feel incredibly privileged that you would share that with me.” He said warmly.

Marta bit her lip. She loved when he spoke this way, so frankly genuine.

“You are gorgeous, enough to bring a man to his knees.” He continued.

Marta was feeling bold, riding his on the admiration in his voice. “Mmm, I certainly hope so.”

Benoit groaned on the other end of the phone like she was torturing him. “Never have I wished more to be in another location to where I currently find myself.”

Marta giggled slightly before she said wistfully, “I wish you were here too.”

“I was about to call you, even before I received your photograph – my case in Chicago has been resolved and I’m headed back to Boston tomorrow. I thought I might call on you this weekend, if you are available of course.”

Marta was quietly thrilled, the excitement like a physical reaction through her body - from butterflies in her stomach to her clenching thighs. She could steal away for an hour tomorrow afternoon to get a wax and buy some underwear more impressive than the simple, cotton pairs that filled her drawer…

“Yes, I would like that. Maybe…” she hesitated for only a second, “maybe I can call one of my old colleagues and get them to be with Harlan Saturday night… and Sunday morning?”

It was the clearest but most polite way she could indirectly ask Benoit whether he wanted to spend an uninterrupted day and night with her. She could feel the heat in her cheeks.

“That is a _capital_ idea Miss Cabrera. I shall make some reservations. Remind me, you like seafood?” He asked.

“I do.” Marta loved that he remembered that.

They talked for another minute about the details of the weekend before a knock sounded on Marta’s door.

“Marta – I need you, tell your sexy detective boyfriend goodnight and come help your sister.” Alicia wheedled through the door.

By Benoit’s muffled chuckle, she assumed he had heard the interruption.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Of course. In the meantime, if you feel inspired to engage in any more photography, know that you have a captive audience on this end.” He said cheekily.

So later, when Marta was settled in to sleep, her ‘goodnight’ message was accompanied by another shot that was indeed received very warmly by the detective.

_5 weeks and 3 days later_

Marta was fairly sure this was the perfect date. Not just the best date she’d ever experienced, but the standard by which all romantic dinners should be measured.

Benoit had picked her up precisely when he said he would, carrying with him a bouquet of peonies, her favourite flower. He had complimented her sincerely on looking beautiful in her favourite red dress, came in to say hello to her mother, before sweeping her away to the nicest restaurant in town.

He opened doors for her, pulled out her chair for her – it didn’t feel the least bit condescending coming from him as an almost automatic gesture of Southern politeness. He had reserved the best table in the place, romantic candlelight illuminating the delicious degustation menu he had pre-ordered. He asked her questions, visibly absorbed and considered her answers, reached out to hold her hand and acted like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

She kicked off her heels and wound her foot around his ankle as the shared dessert plate came out, wavering between wanting to try the exquisite confections and asking him to take her back to his hotel already.

“I hear their tiramisu is to die for.” He said with a warm smile and a shift of his leg to return her affectionate gesture. He pushed the entire serving toward her, knowing her penchant for rich, coffee flavours.

She reached out with her fork and closed her eyes as she bit into the sweet dessert. The flavours burst on her tongue and the silky texture was flawless. She could eat nothing but this for the rest of her life.

She opened her eyes to see Benoit’s gaze fixed on her with a funny little smile. She tilted her head in silent question as she finished her mouthful.

“Tell me truthfully Marta, would you think me a pompous clown if I were to tell you how much you remind me of a poem?”

Marta’s eyebrows shot up. Poetry? This man could not be real.

“I guess it depends on the poem.” She responded in open invitation.

“She walks in beauty, like the night; Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright; Meet in her aspect and her eyes…”

It was like a spell, his warm honey accent bringing the words to life. Without conscious thought, she leaned forward, blinking slowly as he came to the end of his recitation.

“That’s wonderful,” she whispered. “I didn’t think people memorised poems anymore.”

“Only the good ones, the ones that you read and think ‘if only I could experience something that deeply, so truly. If only I could meet someone that inspired such verse.’”.

Marta was moved by his soft words and was inspired to let go of her inhibitions that kept her from public displays of affection. She pushed herself up to lean over the table and capture Benoit’s lips. Almost immediately Benoit brought up a warm hand to cradle her cheek, happily returning the kiss.

“I’m not hungry anymore.” She whispered as she drew back. He immediately put a hand in the air to signal the check, the waiter promptly delivering it and taking Benoit’s card without the man even looking at the bill. Marta sat back down, taking one more bite of the tiramisu.

“I thought you said you weren’t hungry.” Benoit said with amusement. The waiter delivered the receipt, indicating for him to wait while he signed for the tip and stood up.

“This isn’t food, it’s a total mouth experience.” She shot back.

Benoit breathed a laugh as he handed the slip to the waiter, the young man’ eyes widening slightly.

“Thank you sir! Have a good evening.” He said, just short of gushing.

The heat of Benoit’s hand seeped through her dress where he placed it on her back, moving only to help her into her coat.

He tipped the valet driver with what she suspected was a $20 before opening the passenger door for her. The radio was still switched to an easy listening station and once they were on the road, he reached across the console to hold her hand while the other gripped the steering wheel.

It was becoming more and more apparent to her that there was good money in the private detective game, because he pulled up to a 4.5 star hotel, the best one in town. He grabbed the small overnight bag she had packed from the boot and retook her hand as they stepped into the lift.

He hit the button for the top floor and once he unlocked the door, she realised he hadn’t rented a room so much as a suite.

“I’m not typically so indulgent – usually when I travel, four walls, a bed and a desk will do me. I thought perhaps it might be nice for us to have some room to spread out.” He said.

“Well we definitely have it. That bed could fit 6 people and they would barely be touching.” She joked.

“I’m sure you’re right but how about we just test it with 2 for now?” he smiled cheekily.

Marta grinned back at him, popping her head in the bathroom to see a large jacuzzi tub and massive shower and walking over to peak out the sizeable balcony.

“Would you care for a drink?” Benoit asked from behind her.

“Yes please – oh, Harlan sent me with a bottle of wine. He says it’s good…” she crossed the room and opened her bag to pull out the bottle Harlan had given her from his cellar, handing it to Benoit as he pulled out two glasses.

His eyebrows went up slightly as he took in the label.

“I am far from an expert, but I believe this is a very fine bottle he has gifted us.” He said, pouring them both a glass of the red wine.

They clinked the glasses gently together before each taking a sip. It was a lovely wine, but Marta was far more preoccupied by Benoit leading them to the couch, stripping off his suit jacket and picking up a remote to switch on some smooth jazz music on low volume from hidden speakers.

After only five minutes, Marta excused herself to the bathroom to ‘freshen up’, grabbing her toiletry bag on the way.

She brushed her teeth and let her hair out, primping nervously in the mirror. She was anxious to get to the next part. Should she ask? How could she ask him to take her to bed without sounding cheesy or over-eager? She could think of nothing. Maybe actions would speak louder than words?

Marta took a final, fortifying breath, made one final adjustment to her breasts, then stepped out of the bathroom.

Benoit was where she left him. Like a true detective, he noticed immediately that something was different in how she approached him now, with purpose.

He allowed her to take the glass out of his hand and place it on the side table.

Then she climbed onto his lap, her skirt sliding up as she settled one knee on either side of him. His hands came up to support her, holding on to her waist with wide eyes and slightly heavier breathing.

She settled her bottom onto his thighs and leaned forward to capture his lips. They quickly fell into a deep kiss, Benoit bringing up a hand to her face like he did in the restaurant. But now, she was so much more aware of the size of his hands, the firm but gentle way they moved her to his will. She shivered as the hand rubbed her cheek sweetly then moved around to cup her head, tangling with the hair at the back of her neck.

She broke for air and used the opportunity to shift forward, wanting to feel every inch of his firm chest and hoping she would find evidence in his lap that he was as excited as her.

She let out a soft gasp as her centre settled over the hard line of his erection. She rolled her hips forward as their lips met once more. She felt a thrill that sent a pool of heat to her belly when he groaned in response and let his hand slip from its polite place on her waist further down to encourage her to grind against him.

“Marta,” he said, breaking away and brushing away a lock of hair so he could look into her eyes. “Allow me to take you to bed.”

“Yes…” she breathed, shifting her weight to swing her leg off him, letting him take her hand and help her to her feet. He guided her across the room before swinging her into his arms beside the bed, holding her close to steal another kiss.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled slightly against his lips as she felt his hands on the back of dress find her zipper.

He tugged it down an inch before stopping, asking her “May I?”

She hummed her assent as she moved to the buttons on his shirt, undoing a couple before realising in her unfocused state that she had to get rid of his tie first.

They both realised with a little laugh that they had to separate briefly to get rid of their burdensome clothes. It was worth the few seconds of lonely, cool air to strip off her dress and see the look on Benoit’s face and distracted way his hands stopped working on his own attire.

It gave her confidence to fall back into the middle of the truly enormous bed, reclining in her new black lingerie, watching as Benoit shucked his trousers.

He was a solid and well-built, his chest covered in a mat of light hair that matched his legs. His briefs bulged and she wet her lips, her stomach clenching as he climbed gracefully onto the bed.

When he crawled over her, she felt small but safe. She parted her legs to cradle him against her, encouraging him with demanding tugs to press himself against her in full.

He started to move down her body, trailing his lips down her throat and pushing her bra strap off her shoulder to drag his lips over her bare skin.

She arched her back, encouraging him to hook his hands under her back and remove her bra altogether. He did so expertly, tossing it across the room before getting his hands on her, quickly followed by his tongue swirling over her nipples.

She moaned her approval, twisting a hand in his hair. It was now clear what his goal was. He propped himself up on one elbow beside her hip, trailing fingers between the band of her panties and her skin.

“Is this alright?” he checked in with her once more.

She nodded, her breathing somewhat shallow. She could feel wetness pooling in her panties. He rocked back to tug the black lace down her smooth legs, his palm immediately retuning to rub over the soft skin of her inner thigh. His hooded eyes looked over her, finally leaning in to lick up her slit.

His tongue unerringly found her clit and she lost herself to his clever patterns. She was already panting and whimpering by the time his first finger breeched her. She threw her head back on the pillow as he crooked his finger in tandem with sucking on her sensitive nub.

“Ben- Benoit, I-“ she was fast rocketing to her peak. He shifted his body weight restlessly and added a second finger, working on her in a flurry of concentrated attention.

She gasped sharply and cried out as she came, hips jerking rather wildly as the waves crashed over her. Her centre felt red hot and pulsing under Benoit’s firm tongue that he pressed against her throbbing clit, his fingers buried deep in her. She whined as she came down, feeling a full-body pulse as her muscles still fluttered from the intense orgasm.

Benoit reluctantly removed his mouth, kissing over her belly with deep breaths. Rather than finding herself sleepy or satiated, the image of him looking wrecked after licking her out, his fingers still lingering at her core, made her shiver in anticipation of a night of continued pleasure.

“C’mere…” her tongue was a heavy in her mouth, but he followed her slurred plea obediently. He courteously wiped at some of the shining wetness left around his mouth before she pulled him in to a kiss. His clever tongue was not so tired that he couldn’t thoroughly map out her mouth once more.

Marta broke the kiss, urging him to lay on his back.

“Would you like to make love or would you like my mouth?” she purred at him, the blissful chemicals from her recent pleasure making her bold.

“My, this could become an embarrassment of riches…” he murmured, his voice more gravely than usual. “Any way I could enjoy your touch would be most welcome Marta. I will give the decision to your discretion.”

“Big words for a man in bed,” she said teasingly. “I wonder if we can reduce that vocabulary.”

Marta reached over to the bedside table and opened the draw to find some condoms there – she had been right, he was a man that prepared for any eventuality but would not be so gauche as to have them on display.

She opened the packet with her teeth, grinning at the enraptured Benoit who moved to get fully naked. It was the clumsiest movement she had seen from him since they met, and it filled her with warmth and affection to see him eager and unguarded.

His cock was a perfect size, uncut and hard enough that it was curving toward his stomach. He hissed slightly as she took him in hand, running teasing fingers over the head and the precum beaded there before smoothing it down his shaft. Not wanting to waste any more time with teasing, she rolled the condom onto him.

Before he would gallantly ask her what position would most please her, she threw a leg over him in an imitation of her first move on the couch. Like then, his hands came up to support her hips, his expression slightly surprised but keen for how she had opted to take him.

He moved one hand quickly to the base of his cock to guide it. Marta hovered over the head before pressing down slowly, the stretch and intimate sensation of fullness making her breath out shakily. She braced herself on the hard planes of his chest and felt his breathing grow uneven and his muscles flex as she fully seated herself on his cock.

After a moment’s adjustment, she started to roll her hips. Soon she found her rhythm and Benoit started murmuring from deep in his throat, sweet nothings like how gorgeous she was and how good it felt. His hips moved in sync with her rhythm, helping to bounce her up and down as her breath came sharper and her thighs muscles started to pleasantly burn.

He moved his hand so he could tentatively brush a thumb over her clit, darting a glance up to her face to check it was not too much. She quickly nodded her head, “Please, yes…” she panted.

The combined feeling of riding this man while he focused so wholly on her – his thumb on her clit, his other hand on her hip and his pelvis moving to match the tempo and angle she set – made her feel both powerful and treasured. She wished they could stay like this for hours, her stringing out her pleasure and him both an active participant and grateful audience, but alas her legs were not up to the task.

Her movements became more jerky as her muscles burned and the orgasm she was chasing began to fall away from her own jerky movements. Her frustration must have read on her face because Benoit was quick to react.

“Here, allow me…” He urged her over in a fluid movement. He spooned up behind her, her body fitting perfectly against the curve of his body. He entered her again, strong smooth movements making her sigh in pleasure. His arm snaked around her front, burying itself in her crotch to again rub her clit.

Both their bodies were slick with thin sheen of sweat, overheated where they pressed so wholly against each other. The sound of thrusting and panting was obscene, joined by Marta’s little “ahs” as Benoit massaged her clit perfectly with his big fingers.

“I…” she could barely get any words out. She had set out to steal his words but he had taken hers instead.

He seemed to understand what she was saying though, rumbling his pleasure and hitching his hips even faster.

She choked out a series of broken moans that transformed into a wail as she came hard, even harder than before. Sparks erupted in her eyes and she felt wild, like she might come out of her skin. The only thing that grounded her was the blazing hot feeling on him along her back and the rigid length she was clenching down on.

Distantly, Marta heard a deep groan, some grunted words and the loud slapping sound as he kept thrusting. He snapped his hips forward hard, burying himself inside her as he came. His hips twitched forward as he emptied himself, hands similarly twitching to hold her tight. He dropped a kiss on her neck as he breathed out a sigh and relaxed.

“You are incredible…” he murmured against her neck. She wiggled a little, Benoit reluctantly moving back so he could slip out of her. She turned in his arms so she could get a kiss, ignoring the unpleasant wetness between her legs. They lazily kissed for a while, enjoying the closeness, before Benoit hauled himself up to dispose of the condom and grab a wash cloth from the bathroom to sweetly trail over her body to clean her up.

They would go on to make use of the jacuzzi tub, the rest of the red wine and the balcony for a leisurely breakfast the next morning. They made love three times, not counting the time Marta finally got her mouth on him – of course, he returned the favour, again.

It could not have gone better in her eyes, and though both were melancholy when he eventually dropped her home, they were each silently planning their next encounter.

_7 months later_

Benoit was already dialling her before he was even comfortably settled in his hotel suite chair.

“You’re calling rather early.” Came the warm greeting of Marta’s voice down the phone, his girlfriend pleasantly surprised.

He smiled at the sound of her voice, already feeling better. He missed her fiercely when he was away from her, which was all the time. He really had to do something about that.

“It turned out to come together rather quickly in the end, thanks to your insights about the grandmother’s old medicines.”

“Anyone with medical training could have told you that.” She side stepped his compliment.

“But none I trust so much as you.” He shot back genuinely. “You might have a future in the business Watson.”

She laughed lightly, the sound like bells. “I don’t think so mister. I’ve got a job I love. Are you staying the night before you take the train back to Boston?”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about that…” he started. “I thought perhaps you might like to join me instead?”

“…what? Come to New York?” she asked.

“Yes. Maybe we could make a weekend of it? I would insist on paying travel costs of course, and the suite I have here could be mine for another week with just a phone call.”

“I- I don’t know… I mean, I would love to!” she was quick to assure him. “But Harlan… and I couldn’t ask you to pay-”

“I will understand if my request is too short notice. If Harlan can do without you for a few days, I will have a custom-built New York retreat ready for you. If not… then maybe we can plan a little trip soon anyhow. How about that?”

She sighed somewhat wistfully. “That does sound wonderful. Look, my friend Kate – the nurse that’s covered for me before – she’s starting her shift an in hour or so… Let me give her a call now.”

As soon as she hung up Benoit called the travel agent he often used in Boston, briefing her on what he needed and trusting her to have tickets and transfers ready by the time Marta called back. She did so in thirty minutes, Kate grateful for the extra income and Harlan smug as always to see the fruits of his matchmaking labour flourish.

It took a bit of convincing to get her to just pack a bag and be ready at her front door the next day, and he knew she would have something to say about the car service and first class tickets when she got here. But he felt like a child on the night before Christmas – Marta all to himself for five days. He started making reservations to restaurants he knew she’d like, calling down to the concierge about MetroCards and private tours they would recommend – was a helicopter ride over the city too much?

He was on a mission to make this is the best holiday of her life, and hopefully, the first of many with him.

**

Their last night in the city, they walked out of the theatre hand in hand to stretch their legs for a couple of blocks before hailing a cab to head back to the hotel. Marta was smiling and animated as they discussed what they liked best about Hamilton.

She had been so happy all week, excited by every item on their itinerary, from the Met to New York pizza to that helicopter trip – he was not about to complain about how tight she held his hand, how close she pressed to him even as her eyes lit up with wonder.

Now they would go back to the suite she had exclaimed over, get ready for bed which he found so delightfully domestic, then make love once (or twice) more before they caught the train to Boston tomorrow and he had to say goodbye to her. Again.

Benoit _hated_ it. He thought about her all the time, counted down the days until he would see her again. Talking on the phone and video chatting was lovely but not enough, even with the collection of pictures he had under lock and key on his device.

He watched her through the open door of the bathroom as she washed her face, stripping off her make up while still chatting, asking him to reminder her to call her mother in the morning before they left for the station.

He didn’t want to have this only one weekend a month, two or three trips a year.

He had to do something about it.

_1 year later_

Marta scrolled idly on her phone, reflecting on the upcoming weekend – Harlan’s birthday. Certainly enough had happened in the intervening year to warrant some reflection.

Harlan was on ok terms with his family now. Linda arguably had it the toughest, with Ransom convicted of attempted murder and exiled from the family and Richard trying futilely to fight the prenup in court after she served him divorce papers. However, strong woman she was, she was thriving in business and Meg had even told her she was dating again.

Meg was still in school, albeit with student loans and a part-time job to deal with. Joni has a proper job now, though her lifestyle had to make a harsh adjustment. Walt was actually thriving, his experience in publishing securing him another role quickly, where he had more autonomy and earning potential. Harlan was very proud of him.

However, in light of last year, Harlan had decided to have a much more lowkey birthday celebration this time around. It would just be him, his mother, Marta and Benoit having dinner at the house followed by an early night – hopefully no crime involved.

Benoit was coming to town a day early, would be picking her up in minutes in fact. He was taking her to lunch and said he had something to show her. She didn’t much mind any pitstops her took her on – every hour in his company was treasured.

He greeted her with a wide smile and a kiss, coming in to speak to her mother as he always did. He led her to the car, chatted idly about her day and his trip down but refused to say where they were going.

They were only in the car a short time, driving through a residential neighbourhood when he pulled up to a stop.

“Here we are.” He said, climbing out of the car.

She stepped out before he could circle the vehicle and open her door, coming around to stand next to him.

“Why are we here?” she asked, looking around.

It was a nice neighbourhood, big houses and yards. Very white picket fence, American dream. She didn’t know anyone who lived in this part of town, and she didn’t know Benoit did either.

Benoit put his hands on her shoulders, turning her slightly to look across the road.

There was a large, Tudor-style house – probably the biggest on the street. Dark brick, decorative timber and large windows made it warm but still impressive. Out front was a ‘For Sale’ sign.

Marta’s heart leapt in her chest as she took it in. Surely she was jumping to outlandish conclusions…

“I have been looking at real estate opportunities in the area.” He said, somewhat carefully.

He looked a bit nervous as he stepped in front of Marta, meeting her eyes.

“More precisely, I have been looking for a comfortable home closer to you. I have made an offer, but I wanted you to see it first.”

Marta was in shock. He was… moving here? They had talked generally about their future, but it had seemed they were both somewhat tied to their respective locations – or rather, Marta was tied here and Benoit was tied to travel and big cities with crimes to solve.

“You… you want me to see your new house?” she asked dumbly.

“Well,” he rubbed the back of his neck, a wry smile on his face. “It’s rather important to me that you like it Marta. I want it to be somewhere you could envisage yourself, maybe in the future? I do not want to pressure you into moving in right away. I understand it is an important decision for you and your family. But there are five bedrooms, ensuites, plenty of space really…”

Tear welled in her eyes now.

“You want me to move in with you? _With_ my family?” she clarified.

“I know you worry about your mother, I would never ask you to leave her behind.” He said softly.

Marta breathed a laugh, suppressing the sob that wanted to follow.

“Why don’t we go inside and talk about it?” he asked, pulling a set of keys out of his pocket to jangle them.

Marta wiped at her cheeks and nodded with a smile, unable to speak through the lump in her throat.

He wrapped his arm around her and together they walked to their new home.


End file.
